


Protection Detail

by Daffadowndilly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, I promise not to hurt them, M/M, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, Slow Burn, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7222282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daffadowndilly/pseuds/Daffadowndilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, Ron, and Hermione have returned to Hogwarts to complete their education, along with many of their old classmates. Few of those who had found themselves on the losing side of the war returned to Hogwarts; those who have are greeted with dislike and mistrust, none more so than the son of the infamous Lucius Malfoy. Luckily for him, there will always be those willing to stand up against cruelty, no matter who it targets.<br/>Slow build, eventual Drarry, not a lot of angst because I'm the emotional equivalent of cotton candy-- fluffy, soft, doesn't mix well with waterworks...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this universe all of the deaths that occur prior to the 7th book happened as described. Voldemort, Snape, and Crabbe met the fate written by J.K. Rowling. No one else died. Seriously. No one else was lost in the war. Don’t touch me I’m fine.

# Part One: The Emergence of an Alliance

# 

 

### Chapter One: Late Arrivals and Settled Scores

 

As he approached platform 9 ¾ Harry was nervous. It was like being 11 years old again. This trip had already included so many new and familiar experiences that Harry was sure this next year would prove to be interesting, in the very least.

Harry had spent the last week at the Burrow, playing quidditch with the Weasleys, ignoring Ron and Hermione’s occasional lapses into gooey-eyed staring contests. Harry knew they weren’t edging him out and he took it with good humor but it did sometimes remind him of his own loneliness. With the war over and the constant threat of death gone, Harry had expected the crushing isolation he had sometimes felt at being “the Chosen One” to disappear entirely. What he had not expected, surrounded as he was with the people he loved most in the world, safe for the first time in his life, was for it to be replaced with a painfully mundane and unexceptional kind of loneliness. Sometimes he still dreamed of long hallways and locked doors. He dreamed of graveyards and battle and of death. Sometimes he even heard those familiar voices in his sleep, running through the same old words. 

“Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" 

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” 

“Stand aside, you silly girl ... stand aside now...”

He always woke from these dreams feeling panicked and completely alone. He had other dreams, too. Warm arms, soft lips, sharp, cold eyes… from those he woke with a ache in his chest, arms outstretched as though he had reached out to someone in his sleep. 

It had been a strange summer. 

Now, he was standing on the platform, preparing to return once more to his first real home. Here, again, like the first time, everyone was staring. Whispers and shouts of “It’s Harry Potter!” filled the air. Stares, waves, smiles from strangers. Here, again were the Weasleys, jostling one another, arguing and joking, guiding Harry to the train. He craned his neck, searching for Hermione, but he didn’t see her, so he boarded with Ron. 

Here, once again, they sat in a compartment together. Almost as if on cue, Hermione came by. She had been saying goodbye to a pair of rather tearful Grangers. Harry half expected her to inform Ron that he had something smudged on his face or demand that he attempt a spell. Of course, she did neither. Instead she sat next to him and took his hand gently into her own. 

The journey to the castle was very enjoyable. Ron was not interested in reminiscing the entire way, for which Harry was grateful. During a lull in conversation, Hermione left to speak to the conductor, whom she had befriended years ago. While she was gone, Ron and Harry bought from the trolley and started trying to guess who of their old classmates would be returning to school. 

“Naw, I reckon Marietta wanted out by our sixth year, no way is she back for 8. Not unless they figured out a way to remove those things on her face.” Ron said wisely as he bit into a chocolate frog. Harry nodded slowly. The compartment door opened and Hermione re-entered, looking thoughtful. 

“What’s up?” Harry asked, noticing her expression. 

“You will never guess who is on this train.” 

“Celestina Warbeck?” Ron tried wildly. She eyed him with irritation. 

“Umbridge?” Harry suggested, “Kingsley?” 

“Fudge?”

“Remus is here to teach Defense again?”

“Oh, I’ve got it!” Ron exclaimed, “It’s that old wart Mundungus Fletcher!” The hair on the back of Harry’s head rose in response to the name. Hermione crinkled her nose, “No. Draco Malfoy.” The other two exchanged looks of surprise.

“Surely they aren’t letting that little git back in?” Ron said darkly, “Not after everything?” Hermione just shrugged, looking at Harry. Harry was angry and deeply curious, two emotions he was comfortable feeling towards Malfoy. For a moment Harry considered making up some excuse and going looking for Malfoy’s compartment, but he quickly dismissed the thought. There was no way he could leave without Ron and Hermione realizing what he was up to, they would never be fooled where Draco Malfoy was concerned.

When the train stopped the others kindly ignored the obvious way Harry scanned the crowd, straining to see over the heads of hundreds of students, searching for the familiar head of white-blonde hair. He didn’t see him, so Harry allowed an amused Ron and an irritatingly knowing Hermione to lead him to the carriages. 

It wasn’t until they had sung the alma mater, finished the sorting, and begun the feast that the missing pale locks appeared-- and Harry almost didn’t recognize the boy beneath them.

The head of hair was as blonde as as ever, but it was nowhere near the well-kept affair it had been up until now. It was slightly longer than it had ever been and was deeply disheveled. But his disorderly ‘do was not why Harry was staring as his long-time arch nemesis entered the Great Hall. He was covered in blood-- his own blood by the looks of his bruised and broken face. Harry noticed with surprise that Malfoy was limping. More shocking still, the person supporting the majority of Malfoy’s weight was…

_“Neville?”_ Ron’s tone betrayed Harry’s own feelings. If anyone had the right to hate Malfoy, the Death Eater nephew of Bellatrix Lestrange that had bullied him mercilessly since the two of them were 11 years old, it was Neville Longbottom. Yet, there he was, practically carrying his old enemy into the Great Hall. 

The room watched in relative quiet as Neville helped Malfoy to his usual seat at the Slytherin table, and then bent down to speak softly to him. The final straw came when Neville gave Malfoy a pat on the shoulder as he turned to walk to his own place at the Gryffindor table. 

A moment of stunned silence later and the hall erupted into its usual chaos. Ron and Hermione turned to question Neville. Harry was still staring, however, when a pair of miserable-looking gray eyes found Harry’s green ones. A moment later and Harry was sure he had imagined the apology he thought he had seen in those eyes.

“Harry, don’t tell me you feel bad for that blighter.” Ron said loudly next to Harry’s ear.

“Be quiet Ron, he’ll hear you.” Said Hermione.

“From over there?” Asked Ron.

“I just know exactly what that feels like, that’s all,” Harry muttered.

“Yeah,” Ron said, “because he did it to you, mate. Two years ago. Broke your nose. While you were down, by the way, in case you forgot.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes travelling back to Malfoy, who was concentrating rather hard on his fork. Harry thought he could see faint white lines disappearing under the other boy’s collar, “that score at least was settled years ago.” He paused, still looking at that white line, memories of dark blood, shaking hands and Malfoy’s tortured screams flooding back, “more than settled.”

Harry was sure he knew which dream he’d have tonight. A water-logged bathroom on the first floor. White light, white skin, pale hair, pale eyes. And red. Red everywhere. Not one of his favorites. When he turned his eyes back to his own table Ron and Hermione were watching him with identical looks of concern. Harry shifted uncomfortably under their collective gaze. 

###

It was nearly a month into the first semester before Malfoy stopped periodically showing up late to things, bleeding and offering no explanation. The teachers had given up asking what had happened except Professor McGonagall, who’d threatened to give Malfoy himself detention for refusing to tell.

“Fine then, Professor. But if you’re assigning punishment for getting _injured __, some people in this school are going to have years worth of detention to make up.” His eyes flickered to Harry-- it did not escape McGonagall’s attention. Her lips twitched slightly as she told him to take a seat._

These “mysterious” injuries seemed to be getting more and not less frequent as the semester passed. Finally, he was put in the hospital wing and missed a week of lessons because he’d “accidently” been hit with three curses simultaneously between two classes. Harry heard the story from Neville, who’d come to find him during lunch in the first day of Malfoy’s absence. 

“Hey, Harry?” Neville called, catching him just before he entered the Great Hall. Harry held back, gesturing to the others to go ahead.

“What’s up, Nev?”

“Have you heard about Draco?”

“No? He wasn’t in potions yesterday…?”

Neville quickly described Malfoy’s condition then he said, “So I was wondering if you could help me? The thing is, even the Slytherins don’t want anything to do with him. The ones that came back feel like he should have made the same choice they did. They don’t understand--”

Harry interrupted, “Well,what do you want me to do about it?”

Neville shifted his weight guiltily. “I was hoping you could help me watch him?” Seeing Harry’s expression Neville started talking faster, “It’s only for two classes and of course he isn’t going to know. I’ve got him covered for most of his day but you have potions with him and I’m supposed to be on the other side of the castle. 

“On Mondays the Ravenclaws have Charms with the Slytherins this year so Susan Bone’s is going to meet me halfway between the Herbology class I have with Draco and her arithmancy. If she could meet you outside her Charms and you could watch him for a bit (you both have a free period and then potions together--”

“Okay.” Harry decided to stop Neville before he described the entire week schedule, “I think I get it but you’re going to have to find someone else.”

“Harry, there is no one else. I was trying on my own but I couldn’t… Look, I know you’ve never been--”

“What? Bestest mates with _Draco Malfoy_? Well, you’re right. I’m not. And I won’t. Maybe he deserves this. Maybe it’s his turn.”  
Neville seemed to struggle with himself. He reached for Harry and for a moment Harry thought he was about to get slapped. But this was Neville Longbottom. So, instead, he placed his hand gently on Harry’s shoulder. 

“I understand, Harry.” He said. “I just thought… I just thought I’d ask. I’ll see you ‘round, yeah?” He started to move past Harry, “Oh, and Harry?” He said, turning back. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Good luck with tryouts.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Harry said a second too late, his brain sluggish.

 

At lunch Harry described the conversation he’d had with Neville.

“Isn’t it just like that guy to expect--” Ron started.

“I don’t think Malfoy knows, Ron.” Hermione interrupted.

“He doesn’t.” Harry said.

“And why’s it got to be Neville? Aren’t Slytherins supposed to be all ‘house pride’ and ‘protect our own’ or whatever?” Ron said, as though he’d not been interrupted.

“The Slytherins dislike him the most, I think,” Hermione said, “He was fairly popular there before the war, most of them knew who he was, at least. The Slytherins that stood against Voldemort (or at least not with him) seem to have little sympathy for their housemates.” She said.

“Yeah, well. So do I.” Said Harry.

“Yes, Harry, but you never had to pick between doing what your family and friends chose and what you knew to be right. Every Slytherin did.”

“There are plenty of muggleborn and half-blood Slytherins!” Harry muttered.

“That’s true.” Added Ron. 

“Harry was raised by the Dursleys but they aren’t his family.” Hermione said, “imagine I, all the Weasleys, and nearly every member of the D.A. sided with the Death Eaters. Can you two even imagine what that’s like?” They nodded slowly. “Really?” she said, “Because I can’t.”

“Still,” said Ron, “the Slytherins _can_ …”

“I think many of the Slytherins feel some level of responsibility for the actions of their loved ones, and as a result many of them try very hard to distance themselves from everything the Death Eaters stood for. So much so that they’ve lost the ability to empathize, to forgive.” 

“Okay--” said Harry, “But that doesn’t make it my job to play bodyguard and traipse around the school after Malfoy. I have better things to do than stalk him between classes.”  
Ron was visibly torn between agreement and amusement. Harry knew what he was resisting vocalizing, and silently thanked him when he didn’t take the opportunity to point out that Harry had never had a problem stalking Malfoy before. 

Hermione, eyes twinkling with poorly-concealed amusement agreed, “No, it’s not your job.” 

Harry secretly sighed in relief. Somehow he’d been afraid for an instant that she was going to say otherwise. 

Five days later and Malfoy was out of the hospital wing. People had been saying that he was milking his illness to avoid returning to class (he had a reputation for faking medical issues) but the day he walked into potions it was clear to Harry that this had not been the case. 

His hair was as precisely styled as ever, his shoes shiny and his snobby nose as high in the air as always, but his robes didn’t quite fit, his pale skin was sallow, while his eyes look bruised and tired. It reminded Harry horribly of the Malfoy from their sixth year. That Malfoy had been pale, feverish, and skinny, too. That Malfoy had been terrified and frustrated and utterly lost. That Malfoy had cried in bathrooms with Moaning Myrtle for company and kept secrets from his friends. 

This Malfoy, though, was not letting his grades slip ever-further like the sixth year version had, this Malfoy had already firmly reestablished his old place as second to Hermione in everything they shared, and first in Alchemy and Muggle Studies (something it had surprised everyone that he’s elected to take, especially as he was behind, meaning that he was taking it at the OWL level). 

How he had managed to do all of his coursework while in the hospital wing was anyone’s guess, but Harry was sure Neville had taken it upon himself to collect it for him daily; why, Harry couldn’t fathom. 

###

Quidditch tryouts came and went while Malfoy had been out of action. Harry had initially rejected the idea of returning as team captain, since Ginny had served in the position for the last year. Ginny, however had preferred to let Harry take over and had threatened to jinx him if he didn’t take the job. 

Given that Harry had thought his fame got in the way of the last tryouts, it was incredible that this time defied even his least optimistic expectations. It took nearly twice as long as last time, but eventually Harry had assembled a strong team which, thankfully, included Ron and Ginny. In fact, Ron seemed to have overcome a good deal of his fears, between the victories of their sixth year and the experiences of the last he’d become a strong player and performed impressively at tryouts. 

Because he’s been in the hospital wing, Malfoy didn’t have the opportunity to try out for his team, but he hadn’t intended to, at least not according to Blaise Zabini, who had mentioned it in conversation with Ginny. 

Blaise had not returned to Hogwarts as a full-time student but came twice a week to meet with Slughorn and to tutor Ginny, Lavender, and a few seventh year Slytherins in potions. Blaise was in some kind of internship at Woodart and Co., a company that created potions, mainly for St. Mungos and other wizarding hospitals, though they were experimenting with home-use products and muggle pharmaceuticals in a lesser capacity. 

Blaise, though not close to Malfoy, had stopped by to see him in the hospital wing and to drop off a package from Narcissa that had ended up in Slughorn’s office somehow. Malfoy and Blaise had caught up a bit before Blaise had left to tutor Ginny and the others. 

That evening in the common room Ginny and Hermione were discussing the new quidditch line up and that’s what brought Ginny to the topic of Malfoy and Blaise. 

“I wonder why he doesn’t want to play this year? I mean,” Hermione looked around then continued in a hushed tone, “he could doubtless have gotten on the team. You and Harry are obviously better than him but he’s a strong player and pretty evenly matched with Cho. No one in the Slytherin house is about to beat him for seeker.” 

"Well he’s got a lot of classes,” said Ginny, “Two more than you. _And ___he’s getting the stuffing beat out of him twice a week. Could be he’s just tired of Harry beating him.” Ginny said.

__“Maybe he’s seen who's on his team this year” offered Ron, butting in as he looked up from his and Harry’s chess game, “I wouldn’t want to associate with them. Some of them I’m surprised know which direction the broom goes, from the way they ride.”_ _

“Don’t underestimate them,” said Harry, watching his queen decimate Ron’s bishop, “Some of the third years look talented. Between people graduating, Voldemort supporters not returning, and Malfoy out of the running, they’ve had to replace half the team; but just because they’re inexperienced doesn’t mean they aren’t a threat.” Warned Harry.  
“Yeah, all right.” said Ron, as his rook took out Harry’s queen. 

__

A few weeks after Malfoy had returned from his medically-induced furlough Harry thought that Neville must be fending well enough without him. He noticed that Malfoy was injured less often and never severely. His color was coming back, though he still seemed to be losing weight. Harry did not care. 

By the first Hogsmeade weekend Malfoy has gotten so skinny, Harry thought, that Molly Weasley would probably burst out crying at the mere sight of him. Malfoy did not go to the village so Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent their time in Hogsmeade Malfoy-free. When they returned to school it was to find Neville sitting in the common room with a black eye, nursing a large bruise on his arm. 

“What happened?” Demanded Ron.  
“Kathy and Gershwin Spinks.” 

“What? Did they mug you? Try to engage you in muggle dueling?” Ron pressed. Neville offered no answer.  
“Malfoy?” Harry guessed. 

Neville nodded, “the Spinks’s tried to curse him from behind just outside their common room. I blocked it but--” 

“Left you open.” Finished Ron, nodding wisely. 

“I’m lucky Draco’s a dueller, because he took Kathy on immediately. Gershwin only got me at all because Kathy had sent a stinging curse from the side while I still had the shield charm up,” He gestured to his arm, “While I was distracted her brother made my own book fly out of my hand and hit me in the face,” He gestured to his eye sheepishly. 

“But you beat him, right, Nev?” 

Neville smiled, “Well, Harry taught us to defend against a lot more than some third year’s levitating spell.” 

"Is Gershwin ok?” Hermione asked, “you didn’t hurt him did you?” 

Neville smiled weakly as Ron said loudly, “‘Course he didn’t _hurt ___him, Hermione, this is _Neville ___.” Hermione looked at Neville, still looking worried.

“He’s not hurt. Kathy got a couple of nasty ones from Draco but she’ll be in class tomorrow.” 

____Hermione sighed, “Well, Kathy’s a sixth year. She’s really to blame for this. Gershwin’s what? 13? 14?”_ _ _ _

____“We didn’t go ‘round hexing people’s backs at 14.” Ron pointed out, “Though, come to think of it, Malfoy did.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, well, he tried.” Harry, who’d not yet spoken finally said. Then, quieter, “he paid for that, too.”_ _ _ _

____“What were you doing by the dungeons, anyway Neville?” Ron asked._ _ _ _

____“I was bringing Draco my notes.” Ron and Hermione gave him looks of deepest judgement. “We’re in Herbology together!” Neville defended. Ron rolled his eyes._ _ _ _

____“I hadn’t seen him in awhile,” Neville continued, “and he didn’t go to Hogsmeade so--”_ _ _ _

____“You were _worried ___about him!” Ron accused, sounding disgusted._ _ _ _

_____Neville shrugged but didn’t answer._ _ _ _ _

_____“Is this the first time?” Harry asked after a silence. Neville looked at him questioningly. “The first time you’ve gotten hurt?” Harry clarified._ _ _ _ _

_____Neville looked at his bruised and swollen arm, “I didn’t really get hurt today.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Was it the first time?” Harry asked, a steely note creeping into his voice._ _ _ _ _

_____“No,” Neville said evenly, meeting Harry’s eyes, “Not the first, not the worst, not the last. Not the first time Draco’s caught me at it, either. I’m not very good at lying. I don’t think he bought the notes excuse, either. He only missed the first half of Herbology and…”_ _ _ _ _

_____Harry found himself unable to focus on the rest of Neville’s talking. He couldn’t understand. Neville had been forced to hop around the castle like an animated rabbit from a muggle cartoon by Malfoy a number of times. Malfoy had humiliated him, mocked his parents, and openly idolized the people who had tortured them into madness. Sure, he’d only been a stupid kid, but Neville had been a kid too. How could he so easily take on stress and pain to protect Malfoy now?  
As people trickled off to bed that evening Harry pulled Neville aside, “Neville?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Yeah, Harry?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Why did you ask _me ___?” He didn’t have to explain._ _ _ _ _

______“Don’t worry about it. It’s not--”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“My job, I know. Hermione keeps telling me. It’s no secret Malfoy and I hate each other. So why did you ask me?” Neville hesitated. Harry set his jaw and waited._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I figured if anyone was going to help it would have been you. It’s what you do, isn’t it? You help people. Even people you don’t like.” Harry blinked. Neville continued, “I’ve watched you do it since we were first years, Harry. It’s… Something I’ve always admired.” Harry was agape at this._ _ _ _ _ _

______His fuzzy brain conjured confused thoughts. _Neville thinks I’ve got a hero complex-- When have I helped anyone I didn’t like? ___And then, _He ‘admired’ it? ___Harry’s collar started to warm up._ _ _ _ _ _

________“Look,” Neville said, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder and smiling, “I got it. You’re rivalry with Draco’s the other thing I’ve seen you carry on since you were eleven. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.” With that Neville went to bed.  
Harry realized that Neville truly did not think any less of him for refusing to help. That only made Harry feel worse._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The first week of November came and with it a slew of cold, gray days. The cold gray eyes of Draco Malfoy were haunting Harry, specifically the dark color that stained the pale skin around them. He was visibly tired and over-drawn looking, though that might have been the weight loss._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The day after Harry had dreamt a disturbingly pleasant dream featuring those wintry eyes, which left him feeling out of step and surreal for hours, Malfoy was jinxed between Charms and potions. It did not escape Harry that this was the exact area Neville had hoped for his help in. The guilty feeling in his stomach that had appeared at seeing Neville’s injuries on the night of the Hogsmeade trip, and which had flared up that morning in response to the fleeting memories of his dreams, came ramming into Harry at full force when Malfoy arrived 15 minutes into the lesson, a bump on his shoulder roughly the size and shape of Harry’s alarm clock, muttering some nonsense about an allergic reaction. Slughorn accepted this ridiculous explanation and class resumed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________That night Harry found a moment to talk to Neville alone. Neville seemed more stressed and forgetful than usual.  
He brightened considerably when Harry said without preamble, “Fine. I’ll do it. But you can’t tell anyone.” Neville shook his head, relieve and excitement plastered on his face. “I’m serious, Neville. Not _anyone ___.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________“Just you, me, and Sue.” Neville promised eagerly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t expressly said this but Draco and Neville are in an Advanced Herbology course. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all taking Herbology at a regular NEWT level. Both Neville and Draco need the advanced course for their chosen careers, while Ron and Harry need to receive an E or higher on their NEWTs. Hermione is only there because of her deep abiding love for knowledge of all kinds.

### 

Chapter Two: Harry’s a Stalker. Again.

Harry spent the next two weeks mostly uneventfully, following Malfoy around school between classes and trying to fool himself into thinking that no one would notice.

Most days it wasn’t too bad, Harry just made sure Malfoy made it either to class or to a point in the castle where Susan Bones or Neville took up guard duty. Thursdays, though, Malfoy and he had a free period, when it was far more difficult to follow him without suspicion and when Harry really would rather be studying for his NEWTs.

Good thing for Harry, his obsession with Malfoy’s illicit activities two years prior had given him excellent Malfoy-stalking abilities. Or so he thought.

Potions had ended early but Malfoy was talking his dearest, sweetest time to gather his things. Harry tried to take as long as he could. Finally, Malfoy left and Harry paused for a few seconds, then followed. When he exited the dungeon, which was now empty except for Slughorn, Malfoy was nowhere in sight. Oddly anxious, Harry began walking in the direction Malfoy should have gone, so long as no one ambushed him in the brief seconds Harry had waited to follow.

Harry had gone less than ten paces when something grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into an empty classroom. Harry had his wand out before the door had swung shut behind him. He lowered it only slightly when he recognized his attacker.

“Malfoy?”

“Leave me alone.” Malfoy said, pointing, his finger inches from Harry’s chest. Harry opened his mouth to point out that _Malfoy_ had dragged _him_ in there, not the other way around, but before he could say so Malfoy continued, “I don’t need anyone following me around, especially not you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Harry said without much hope.

“Come off it, Potter.” Malfoy spat. He dropped the accusatory finger and sneered, “You’ve hardly been subtle.”

“Right. Well. I still have no idea what you’re on about but--”

Malfoy took a step forward, Harry backed into the door. _Why can’t they swing outward?_ He thought wildly of a time when Cho Chang had once had him in a similar position. The trapped feeling was just as alarming but the comparison made Harry as amused as it did uncomfortable. Unwilling to complete the rest of the experience with Malfoy, Harry placed his hand squarely on the other boy’s chest and pushed him back, hard, while stepping forward. He flung the door open.

“And Potter! Get Bones and Neville off my back!” Malfoy called after him.

“Or what?” Harry muttered to himself.

###

Harry was late to Transfiguration. He’d had a strange day already. A sixth year Ravenclaw had tried to hex Malfoy in the hallway. Her target had blocked her silently but did nothing else to acknowledge that she’d even tried. Nothing more had happened but the attempt had put Harry a little on edge so when Susan wasn’t at the agreed halfway point, Harry had been forced to follow Malfoy all the way to his class.

As he’d reached the entrance to the classroom, Malfoy had turned, scanned the crowed, locked gazes with Harry for a moment then rolled his eyes with so much vigor and so far back into his head that Harry was sure he would hurt himself. Having given up trying to make his eyeballs cartwheel through space and time, Malfoy reestablished eye contact in order to raise his eyebrows and deliberately turn away, stalking into his class with a flourish. The whole thing had been so theatrical that Harry fought a smile all the way to class. Until he realized he was late. He’d sprinted the last few steps and burst into transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall turned to look at him, “Ah. Mr. Potter. I see you’ve elected to join us.”

“Yes, Professor, I have.” Answered Harry as he moved to his seat. Her lips thinned but she resumed her lesson without further comment. After class she asked him to stay behind. Hermione sighed and Ron gave him a ‘this is Malfoy’s fault but also yours’ look.

Professor McGonagall must have requested Neville stay behind after class too, at some point, because he had. Harry tried to remember her making the request, or anything else from the lesson but he couldn’t. His thoughts had apparently been elsewhere.

Professor McGonagall look at the pair of them seriously, “Potter, Longbottom, I just wanted to say that it can’t be easy, what you two are doing for Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry interrupted, flushing a deep red, “I don’t... what you’re... talking about professor. Apart from not hexing him myself--”

“Potter, who do you think I am?” Professor McGonagall asked, “The number of ‘accidents’ he encounters on a daily basis has decreased almost to your normal levels. His scores have improved immensely in the last--”

Harry interrupted again, “Forgive me, professor, but I don’t give half a box of Bertie Bott’s for Malfoy or his scores and I’m not sure why you’re telling me about either of them.” he said.

Professor McGonagall fixed him with her usual piercing stare, but there was humor behind her eyes when she said finally, “Well, very well Potter. I suppose you’ve not been helping him either, Longbottom?”

“I brought him your homework once, professor…” Neville said, clearly doubting his ability to convincingly lie to McGonagall.

“Okay.” Said Harry, “so he might give a box of Bertie Botts…”

Neville repressed a smile and Professor McGonagall’s eyes twinkled, “You two had better get off to your classes, then. I imagine it wouldn’t do any good to speak with Ms. Bones?” she asked.

Harry and Neville responded with their best “who?” expressions until suddenly Harry remembered she’s not been at their usual pass off point. 

Panicking a little he said, “Speaking of, have you seen her around today, Neville?”

“No I have--” he froze and met Harry’s eyes with a look of horror, “have _you?_ ”

Harry turned to the ever-perceptive McGonagall who looked mildly alarmed herself, “Well,” he said, “it’s been grand, we should catch up sometime, see you ‘round Professor.” he said, grabbing Neville by the arm and practically dragging him out of the room.

Just outside the door Harry said, “I’ll check his Muggle Studies before I go to my next class. I’ll get him to the Great Hall.”

Neville nodded, “I’ve got him after lunch.”

While Neville headed off to his Muggle Art class, Harry practically ran to Burbage’s. He burst in partway through a lecture on muggle fashion, panting heavily, having run the whole way.

He scanned the class’s alarmed and curious faces quickly, eyes landing on the palest, pointest of them. Malfoy had adopted a look of intense focus with the rest of the class at Harry’s wild entrance. As Harry’s attention fixed on him, Malfoy relaxed. He raised his thin eyebrows and crossed his too-thin arms, making his entire attitude a challenge.

“Mr. Potter!” Professor Burbage exclaimed, drawing Harry’s eyes to her for the first time, “is everything alright?”

“Yeah he’s-- it’s! _It’s_ fine. Sorry, professor, I-- wrong class. Sorry.” As he left, Harry caught Draco’s eye momentarily and was met with a look of amused irritation. It was full of amusement at Harry’s expense, but it somehow seemed fundamentally different from the usual snide mockery they exchanged.

As Harry made his way through the castle he continued to mull over that expression. _What had been different about it?_ Draco had been annoyed, obviously, but the look he had sent Harry held something else too. It was not exactly conspiratorial, but that was close. The more Harry pictured it the more it seemed almost… affectionate? Like the way Harry looked at Ron when he went off on a twenty minute rant about the Chudley Cannons.

_Oh, Merlin’s thumb, no._ Harry thought desperately. _Malfoy and I are_ not _about to start being friendly. No._

By the time his class ended, however, Harry was sure he had imagined the familiarity in the short look. He was also becoming increasingly aware of how stupid and concerned he himself had appeared. When lunchtime came around it became clear that it was going to be a long time before Harry lived it down.

He hadn’t had the opportunity to tell Ron and Hermione about this embarrassing venture. After class, to which he had been the of kind late that the Weasley twins themselves had only managed a handful of times, he had been forced to practically run through the castle so he could trail five or six students behind Malfoy as he made his leisurely way to the Great Hall. 

Draco liked to make sure that Harry knew that Draco knew that Harry was following him and that he had a very low opinion of Harry’s sneaking capabilities. He therefore made it a point to lift a scathing eyebrow in Harry’s direction. Today, though, he sent him the same smug smile, raised eyebrows, and twinkling eyes that he’d worn in Muggle Studies.

They reached their regular seats at opposite sides of the Hall at nearly the same time and sat down almost in sync. With Malfoy safely seated at his house table, Harry let his focus turn to Ron and Hermione.

He told them quietly about running into Professor Burbage’s class and waited with good humor as they roared with laughter at his embarrassment. While he waited, Harry looked over to see Draco watching them. Harry raised an eyebrow. Malfoy stared then raised one of his own in answer. 

“Listen mate, if you like staring into another bloke’s eyes, that’s fine with me. But not Malfoy and not in the Great Hall, _please_.” Said Ron, jerking Harry’s attention back to his own table. Harry colored, feeling slightly offended.

Hermione elbowed Ron in the side and hissed something into his ear that sounded like “not now!”

Ron grimaced, “Now you’ve hurt me, you have to kiss me to make up for it.”

Hermione blushed lightly and leaned in. Harry looked away, wincing and resisting the urge to ask what happened to the ‘not in the Great Hall’ policy. Unnoticed by the three friends at Gryffindor table, Malfoy rolled his eyes at their antics and moved his attention to his text book.

###

It turned out that Susan had gone home for a family emergency and would be gone for days. This meant Harry and Neville had to do an awful lot of jogging around. Ron thought this a good reason to give up on the whole thing, Hermione said nothing except to mention that it seemed to be working as far as Malfoy was concerned at least, and Ginny insisted that this was “good for your waistline, Harry.”

After Harry was held back in Herbology to discuss extra credit one Monday, he had to literally sprint all the way to Flitwick’s, trying to catch Draco before he disappeared on his free period. This was the time he was most likely to be attacked, because it was when he was most likely to be alone. He had a terrible habit of getting lost in empty parts of the library or grounds that tended to result in trips to the hospital wing or at the very least detention for duelling. Apart from Monday afternoons and weekends, attempts on Draco’s life and limb had become extremely rare. Despite their best efforts, most of the school now knew that Harry and Neville (two of the oldest and most popular boys in the school, and known members of the D.A.) were on Draco’s protection detail.

Arriving sweaty and disheveled outside of Malfoy’s Charms class, Harry saw that he need not have run. Draco had not even begun to leave, as was talking to Professor Flitwick. Perhaps hearing Harry’s erratic footfalls, Draco and Professor Flitwick turned to see Harry arrive looking agitated and a bit wild.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, grabbed his bag, and threw it at Harry, who caught it just before it hit him in the face.

“Afternoon, Professor.” Draco said to a shocked Professor Flitwick, by way of farewell. He gestured toward the bag in Harry’s arms as he swept passed, “Thought I’d let you carry my books and save you the trouble of asking.” 

Harry stared after him for a moment as he strolled off. Falling into step beside him, Harry shoved Malfoy’s books back into his arms with a muttered “shove off.” and stopped walking to let Draco go ahead. Malfoy stopped too. They stared at one another.

“You are absolutely _absurd._ ” Malfoy declared, walking again.

They walked in silence for a while, Harry trailing slowly behind, trying to regain his usual minimum eight-pace distance until Malfoy grew impatient. Turning around he exclaimed, “Are you honestly going to follow me around all period? Hecate’s eyes, Potter! If I needed a lapdog I’d get one.”

‘Lapdog?’ He was a guard dog, at the very least. “Maybe you should consider it, though I prefer the larger breeds myself.” Said Harry.

“Do you have any conception of how ridiculous you are?” Harry didn’t answer so Malfoy continued, “I’m going to the library. It’s impossible to even see a person from ten feet back in there so you may as well just--” 

“What? Come _with_ you? Sorry, carrying your books is one thing but a study date is entirely another.”

“Excellent. Because I was about to suggest you sod off.” Draco said.

Harry thought for a moment. “Fine. I’ll walk with you then.”

“That is the complete opposite--” Malfoy began. Harry, ignored him.

“Let’s go.” He said with mock enthusiasm, coming to stand next to Malfoy.

“You’re absurd.”

“You said that already.”

The library was quiet and musty as usual. Harry and Draco quickly found a secluded table. Harry pulled out his potions homework and Draco, after gathering an armful of books, did the same. They worked in silence for some time.

“That’s _pathetic_.” Draco drawled. Harry looked up to see Malfoy’s eyes on his paper, “You’re just making that up.”

Harry glared defensively, “Not all of us feel the need to pull from six books to write one stupid potions essay.”

“Oh, clearly. You seem to feel a need to turn in absolute garbage.”

“Wow I didn’t realize you were grading these. I guess I should have taken that into account.”

“I _knew_ you passed all your classes on charm. It isn’t possible to make it to NEWT level writing essays based on how you _imagine_ potions interact with each other in the body; not without relying entirely on favoritism.”

A memory of a little twelve year old boy stirred in Harry’s mind. He’d spoken in a tone that was far more bitter than what the young man next to Harry used now, but the sentiment had been the same. He’d said that Hogwarts teachers had favorites, he’d named Hermione and Harry. “...everyone thinks he's so _smart..." Harry smiled._

“I heard you say something about my winning charm once. I can’t really recall,” Harry said slowly and untruthfully. “Hmm… All I can remember is something about ‘wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick...?’” Harry paused, looking over at Draco, who was staring at him, “Isn’t that what you said? And I think your dad said that you’d told him that twelve time already? I must say, that’s rather a compliment and not generally how I’d describe--”

“How did-- But when...?” Draco spluttered.

Harry laughed. “You and Lucius were in Borgin and Burkes. Second year, I think? Yes, because you weren’t playing quidditch yet.”

Draco stared. “And you remember our conversation?”

“It was about me.” Harry said fairly. Draco stared, eyebrows raised. “And it was a memorable trip. My first time using the Floo Network, actually.”

“I almost forgot you were raised by muggles.” Draco said in a voice that belied the statement. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Yeah well I _didn’t_ almost forget you were raised by Malfoys.” Said Harry.

“Right.” Said Draco, turning back to his homework. There was a short silence.

“Wait. So how _do_ a Hiccuping Solution and a Wiggenweld Potion interact?”

###

Harry and Draco now spent most of their free periods sniping at each other over homework. Harry also stopped following him around everywhere. Mostly he walked next to him, which apparently is what Neville had been doing the whole time, and Susan had been since Malfoy first told her to bugger off. She had concluded that if he already knew she was doing it, she may as well stop pretending. 

By the Christmas holidays Susan and Malfoy had clearly become accidental friends and talked easily when together. Neville had been disgustingly kind and genuine from the start of term feast. Harry, it seemed, was the only one who had stubbornly refused to actually be friendly towards the boy he was spending all of his free time protecting.

Harry had been assuming that Malfoy would go home for Christmas but discovered that this was not the case, according to Hermione, who had found out courtesy of Ginny (once again via Zabini, who it seemed was now keeping in touch with Malfoy).

“Oi! Malfoy!” Called Ron, earning a jab from Harry. Draco looked at Ron with an expression of deepest distain, but paused to allow the trio to catch up to him and Neville on their way from the greenhouses.

“Hi guys,” Neville said.

“Hey,” Hermione said briefly. She turned to Draco, “The other night Ginny said something I wanted… to ask you about... ”

Hermione was staring at Malfoy like she’d never seen him before. Harry quickly checked Draco over, wondering if there was an injury he was concealing, but saw no trace of one. Meanwhile, Malfoy was looking at Hermione like she was crazy. There was a long pause. 

“I don’t anticipate it being the least bit interesting, but please, go on. What did Ginny Ginger say?” Malfoy said.

“I… A number of highly interesting things, actually,” she answered, looking flustered, “One of them being that you’re staying for the holidays?”

Everyone’s eyes, which had been trained on Hermione and her odd behavior, turned to Draco.

“I am.” He said.

“Oh dear. I’m not.” Said Neville.

“You’re not?” Asked Harry, momentarily distracted.

“No, I’m spending it with Luna, Seamus, and Dean. We’re going looking for some kind of rare imp. Early birthday present for Luna. I can’t remember what she called them.” Hermione snorted at the sound of regret in Neville’s voice. Clearly she didn’t think that forgetting the name of one of Luna’s “rare” creatures constituted a tragedy.

“Well that’s it, then. You’re going to have to go home,” said Ron decidedly, “Susan’s not staying and Harry’s supposed to come home for the holidays this year.”

“What? The muggles suddenly want him around?”

“No, _home_. With his _family_.” Ron said.

“Oh, you mean to your little rabbit’s burrow.” Draco said.

“It’s fine,” Harry cut in before Ron could retort, “Your mum will understand, Ron. It’s my last Christmas in Hogwarts, she’ll understand if I want stay at school.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “You are ludicrous, Potter. Just go. We wouldn’t want you to disappoint Mrs. Stote and the 11 carrots she calls children.”

It was a testament to how much time the four of them had been spending with Draco that no one reacted more violently than with raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

“HA. Your own common room won’t be safe during the winter holidays, let alone the corridors,” said Harry.

“You lot are _ridiculous_. I was fine during the month before you morons started following me around like lost ducklings, and I’ll be fine while you’re gone. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“‘Fine for the first month?’” Harry repeated incredulously, “Malfoy, Neville _actually carried_ you to the welcoming feast.” Neither Neville nor Draco appeared to appreciate this comment.

Hermione, who had been silently observing the conversation finally chimed in, “Actually, I’d been thinking that I’d like to stay. Ginny was saying something similar last night.”

###

It was decided then, despite Draco and Ron’s protests, that Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Ginny, and Draco would stay at the castle for the Holidays. Harry and Hermione had insisted that Ron needn’t change his plans for them, but in the end he said there was no point in going home if his sister and best friends were remaining at school.

“Alright, tag you’re it,” Harry told Draco, who looked at Harry like he’d lost his mind, “I’m not running around after you all break,” Harry continued, “I do that enough. Your turn.” 

They had been discussing something Ron had overheard earlier that day. A pair of third year Slytherins in the bathroom had been talking not-so-secretly about a boy, Bonneville, who was staying at the castle for the Christmas holidays with the sole purpose of getting a shot at cursing Malfoy.

“I _told_ you.” Harry had exclaimed at this revelation.

He, Ron, Hermione, and Draco had been standing together in the corridor, just after leaving Defense Against the Dark Arts, their last class of the term.

“I’m more than a match for Bonneville. He’s a seventh year. I mean, he did well in Carrow’s class but his aim is terrible.” Draco had drawled with an exaggerated lack of concern.

“Yeah, maybe. If he took you on headfirst, out in the open. How about from behind in your own common room while you’ve got your face pressed into _The Alchemist’s Almanac_. How’d you like to die with your nose buried in that stupid thing?”

“That would be humiliating,” agreed Ron, “I mean, if that’s how you’ve gotta go, you should at least do it with something vaguely interesting in your hand. _The Alchemist’s Almanac?_ ”

Harry had given Draco a look of triumph. He’d been making fun of him for his choice in leisure literature for days.

Draco had sighed dramatically, “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I guess you’ll just have to spend as little time as possible in there. Keep your guard up when you do. Use protection spells around where you sleep and never go anywhere alone?”

“Sounds reasonable.” Ron had said, nodding. 

“You’re completely mad. Absolutely paranoid. The lot of you.”

“I guess we’ll all have to pay extra attention,” Hermione had said, purposefully rubbing it in to irritate Draco, “and make sure you’re never alone.”

That’s when Harry had made his “tag you’re it” comment. Draco adopted a look of horror, “follow _you three?_ All holiday? I think not, Potter. It’s going to take at least one of the Unforgivables to force me into chasing you around."

Hermione snorted while Ron’s false cough’s did nothing to conceal the words “didn’t use to.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Say that again, Weasley.” The threat in his voice was palpable, “I couldn’t quite understand you.”

“What?” replied Ron quickly with a grin, “I didn’t say anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for what has come, and what is about to. I'm a bad person. I disgust even myself.  
> Comments, kudos, feedback, complains, expressions of regret at the amount of time you spent reading this trash,  
> emoticons flipping the bird, etc. are all welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter it is said that there are less than 300 people at the school during break, excluding staff. JKR once said there were about 1000 students present during the school year. There are approximately 143 children in each year and around 250 students in each house, though we have no reason to believe that students were divided into houses evenly, actually it would be weird if they were. Anyway, hopefully this information helps to visualize the difference in the population during the break versus the school term. There are fewer than 75 students in each house atm.

# Part Two: The Growth of a Friendship

### Chapter Three: Happy Holidays 

The first time Draco walked into the Gryffindor common room the other twelve people currently occupying it stopped and stared openly. Draco took everything in with a sneer, cold eyes roaming over the warm house colors that decorated every inch of the room.

“This place disgusting,” Draco said, “Does anyone ever get sick? Do you suffer from sensory deprivation after a few hours of seeing nothing but this awful shade of red splashed on every-”

“Malfoy, shut up.” Harry said, with no real venom in his voice. Harry appreciated how intimidating this must be for the other boy and therefore thought he could let a few slights against his house colors slide for now.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Lavender Brown asked from her place at a table near the entrance.

“Same thing you are, I suppose.” Harry said evenly.

“This is the _Gryffindor_ common room. He really doesn’t--”

“You have Hannah Abbot in here for your study groups all the time.” Said Ron. “She’s a Hufflepuff.” Though far from being Draco’s biggest fans, Ron and Hermione had jumped on the protect-Draco-Malfoy bandwagon to help Harry.

“Yes. She’s a _Hufflepuff_. And a nice one.” Replied Hannah.

The four ignored her and took up seats next to the fire. No further protests were verbalized, but curious glances and pointed glares came from every side. Ginny, also ignoring the looks, came to sit next to beside them.

“Welcome to Gryffindor, Malfoy.” She said by way of greeting. The comment clearly irked him, but Draco did not respond beyond a slight inclination of the head, likely remembering a well-placed bat-bogey hex a few years before, “I’m a bit surprised you’re here, actually,” she continued conversationally, “but I suppose Harry wanted to keep an eye on you. Don’t trust the other Slytherin’s with him, Harry?” she asked.

Harry just looked at her, unsure how to answer. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like the way that had sounded.

“I mean, I might be wrong but I thought it was mainly Gryffindors and Ravenclaws that were attacking you between classes?”

Draco looked as though he were about to say something exceptionally nasty, a reaction Harry was starting to associate with Draco’s discomfort as much as distain or actual dislike.

“Harry here doesn’t like to take any chances with his ickle Dwaco’s safety,” an obnoxious voice cut in, mimicking the high pitch and misformed words of a small child. Zacharias Smith had entered the common room, unnoticed by the five seated by the fire, with Colin and Dennis Creevey trailing behind him.

“Shut it.” Colin said sharply before a stunned Harry or livid Draco could respond, “Sorry, sorry. Charms partner. No choice.” Smith looked offended at this.

“Oi, Lavender!” Ron said, far too quietly for her to hear, “Where’s the the Gryffindor-Only Common Room Protection Squad when you need them?”

Draco looked as though he longed to say something and was putting a lot of effort into keeping his mouth closed. Harry must have looked extremely red-faced and flustered because Colin, pushing Zacharias towards the other side of the common room mouthed, “Sorry Harry,” once more.

 

After the first few times, people got used to having Draco in the common room. He was not particularly quiet or polite, in fact he was notably neither, but they all got used to him as break progressed. It helped that Harry, Ron, Hermione (who actually heard some of the first years referring to them as “The Golden Trio”), and Ginny were all rather popular, especially with their younger classmates.

It also helped that Draco was a good storyteller, and could be very entertaining when he wasn’t busy being deeply unpleasant.

This really shouldn’t have been a surprise, Harry had seen large groups of Slytherins listening intently as Draco had regaled them with humiliating anecdotes about Harry for years. To be fair, seething with anger and embarrassment from across the Great Hall was not a prime seat for observing the finer points of Draco’s narration technique.

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, listening to him relate something that didn’t involve Harry fainting or having his nose broken, was a strange experience for Harry. He had expected Draco’s mordant humor to be annoying, what he had not expected to find his sarcasm and clever turns of phrase to be amusing.

When Draco told a story he used his whole body. His fingers combed through the air as he described situations and people; he used ironic understatement and ludicrous hyperbole in rapid succession. Draco had a gift for theatrics. He did dramatic impressions, mirrored facial expressions and used wide, sweeping gestures.  
Draco was absolutely ridiculous, and Harry found himself enthralled, soaking in every motion, every word. Just like those Slytherins he, Ron, and Hermione used to mock for exactly this kind of pathetic rapture.

Harry was also surprised by how quickly his friends got used to Draco. Light-hearted bickering and harmless insults soon put everyone at ease. It was strange, since it was Harry who most hated Draco, that it was Harry for whom they all learned to tolerate him.

The two Harry had most anticipated finding it difficult to be courteous to one another surprised Harry by finding it the easiest. Hermione and Draco were so deeply amiable to one another that it almost made Harry uncomfortable. Hermione’s delicacy and ability to find a seemingly endless number of neutral topics of conversation, combined with Draco’s impressive ability to fake geniality, took the first steps in establishing peace.

As the first days of near-constant contact passed, Hermione and Draco’s conversations slowly became less and less neutral, but it no longer seemed to matter. They had become sort of friends, allied in their determination to squash the awkward atmosphere first conjured by Draco’s presence. He and Hermione argued about even the most sensitive subjects, often swapping petty insults along the way. After commenting on everything from one another’s test scores to fashion choices, they always ended their arguments slightly red in the face but, quite inexplicably to Harry’s mind, no less friends.

Ron and Ginny both opted to stay as far from the two of them as possible as soon as a debate sprung up. Hermione had a habit of appealing to them (mostly Ron) to back her up, so they tended to turn tail and run at the slightest indication that the discussion was going to get heavy.

Harry rarely said anything during these conversations. He didn’t have to worry about either Hermione or Draco dragging him in because whenever they tried he’d just give them a thoughtful look and say, “Er, I dunno... It’s a good question, though,” and so they both gave up asking. He found their debates oddly fascinating, he couldn’t explain why but he enjoyed listening to them.

The five of them studied, ate, played board games, and relaxed together. At night the entire group walked Draco to his common room. The conversation at the entrance to the dungeons would always go the same way.

“Thanks. I mean,” Draco would drawl, “I probably could have found my own common room on my own…”

“But why chance it, eh, Malfoy?” Ron would say.

“Watch your back in there and cast-” Harry would start.

“Yes, mother, I’ll do that.” Draco would interrupt.

“Right then.” Harry would say.

“Sleep well, Draco” Hermione would say.

“Yeah, g’night.” Ginny would add.

###

On Thursday night, six days after the start of Christmas break, Ginny came into the Great Hall for lunch. Because it there were so few students, only one table was set for meals, so Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione were seated together. Ginny sat down next to Hermione and leaned across the table, facing Harry.

“Hi, did you hear about the dance?” She asked without ceremony.

“Hello to you too, Weasley.” Draco said, not looking up from his book. Harry rolled his eyes.

“The dance?” Hermione asked as the others stared blankly.

“Yeah. I guess even though they’re back to workshopping the whole Triwizard Tournament thing for now, the Yule Ball tradition is back on. I guess it was Grubbly-Plank’s idea. It’s the first Christmas since the war; there’s been so much mourning and people have been kind of sombre. Everyone loved the ball so much last time-- they’ve deciding they want to hold it annually.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks at the “everyone loved it” comment but said nothing.

“That’s a terrible idea.” Said Draco, “Not nearly enough people stay over the Christmas holidays. Why are they having a dance?”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron, “Pretty much everyone stayed for Christmas in our fourth year, and we still had more than enough room for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs. We won’t have a quarter as many people. Seems a bit daft to have a ball.”

“Hmm,” said Hermione, “You’re right. There are less than 300 students at school right now.”

“That’s what Flitwick thought but Slughorn said there was an old ballroom on the ground floor for exactly this sort of thing.”

“Wait, how do you know all of this?” Harry asked her.

“Hagrid.”

 

On Friday evening Professor McGonagall, as acting headmistress, announced the ball was for all ages and was to be held on Christmas day, starting at eight o’clock. That was in four days.

In the meantime, there was a Hogsmeade trip planned for Saturday. Professor McGonagall reminded the seventh and “eighth” year students that they were legally adults and could apparate. She explained that they were, therefore, permitted during Hogsmeade weekends to go to Diagon Alley, if they wished.

This was good because it seemed that almost no one had dress robes. Of their group, Ron and Hermione had brought them, Ginny asked Mrs. Weasley to owl hers, but Harry and (surprisingly) Draco were without.

So the next day the five of them walked towards the village along with most of the other students. Once outside of Hogwarts grounds, however, they disapparated, leaving behind everyone sixth year and below.

 

Diagon Alley was fantastic. Everything was decorated for Yuletide. Soft snow was falling, people were singing, and everywhere were the colors of the season: silver, gold, red, and green. The whole street smelled like mulled wine and hot gingerbread. Golden bells hung from wizards’ robes and dangled off rooftops. Harry watched as his breath froze in the air and rose upwards in a merry, dancing cloud.

“Alright, let’s split up,” Hermione said, sounding businesslike, “Harry and Draco, you can go to Madam Malkin’s, I need to stop at Flourish and Blotts, these two” she gestured to Ron, and Ginny, “need go to the apothecary for Molly. Why don’t we all meet up at the Magical Menagerie. Then we can go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, get something to eat, and check out some of the vendors together.”

Since no one seemed inclined to argue, they all set off.

 

Standing in the shop as Madam Malkin took their measurements felt very strange, but Harry didn’t know why. He’d been in this shop plenty of times and it had never made him feel quite so odd. As Madam Malkin walked off to ring up their purchases, Draco turned to look at Harry, a look of faint amusement on his face.

“Play quidditch at all?” he asked.

Harry stared.

“ _I_ do.” Draco continued.

They looked at each other in silence, then suddenly both laughed.

“You were such a git.” Harry choked.

“I’ve never been a ‘git’ in my life. You, on the other hand...” Draco answered, face and voice full of humor.

“Malfoy, you were a right prat and you know it.”

They were still flushed with laughter as they turned to shrug on their winter layers. Since they had entered from Muggle London through the Leaky Cauldron, they were both wearing Muggle clothes.

They had shed their bulky layers for the fitting, Harry revealing jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, and Draco black trousers and a short-sleeve button up. Harry decided that Draco’s muggle studies must be paying off as he looked entirely normal, an impressive feat for any wizard. Harry had never seen him in short sleeves, he realized absently.

As Draco lifted his coat, the underside of his left forearm was momentarily visible.

Harry, moved lightening-fast, grabbed at Draco’s arm without pausing to think. He had drug it up to eye level before Draco realized what was happening. A moment too late, Draco wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grasp, staring at him wide-eyed.

Harry’s mouth went dry. “I never saw-- ”

Draco turning on his heel and stormed off without speaking, clutching his arm to his chest as though it hurt.

Harry was left to hurriedly pay for both of their robes. He had to practically run to catch up with Draco, who was striding down the pavement at top speed.

As he neared him Harry almost shouted, “Malfoy, I didn’t mean-- I had no right… ”

“Exactly,” He bit back, “You have no right.”

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Harry said, tugging on Draco’s right arm, trying to slow him down.

“Fine. It’s forgotten.” Draco said, tone clearly indicating that it was not.

“Can we please... Can we just… Let’s go to the Menagerie, yeah?”

“Fine.”

They sped down the street, not speaking or looking at one another, moving at a pace that easily outstriped every other passerby.

Harry sighed with relief when he saw Ron and Ginny waving out of the Magical Menagerie window. Upon entering the shop, he and Draco separated, Draco going to stand next to Ginny and immediately striking up a rather forced discussion on pygmy puff care and Harry turning to Ron.

Ron gave him a big eyed “what the heck” look. Harry just shook his head in response.

The four of them only had to wait a few minutes before Hermione joined them and they entered the shop together, Draco and Ginny still deep in conversation.

They spread out through the shop, looking around at all of the interesting creatures for sale. While Harry was looking at a group of purple ferrets, he bumped into Hermione. He turned to apologize but before he could she spoke.

“Harry, is something wrong?”

“What?”

“Draco and you... Well, you both seem a bit on edge.”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

She looked at him calculatingly, and then seemed to decide to let it go, “Well,alright,” she said, “Anyway, I was thinking you should get a pet, Harry.”

“I don’t want a pet,” he said, surprised at the sudden change in topic.

“Yes, well, you should get one. What about an owl? Or a cat?” Harry began to shake his head when Ron called from across the shop.

“Harry! Come here!”

He and Hermione walked over to see what the other three were looking at. A group of slender black snakes were lazily stirring in a large tank. A large, handsome one was coiled in the center of the tank.

“Why so many loud ones?” The handsome serpent asked, sounding irritated.  
“The large orange one is noisy.” Said another, probably. annoyed that Ron had shouted.

Harry chuckled, “He’s always like that.” he said.

He turned to look at his friends, who were all staring at him. He felt a bit annoyed at this, _they’ve all seen me speak parseltongue before,_ he thought, _even Draco._

“What are they they saying?” Ron asked.

“Talking about you actually,” Harry said, “They think you’re too loud.”

Ron’s only reaction was interest, “Really? What exactly--”

“That one there,” Harry said, gesturing, “said ‘the large orange one is noisy.’” Harry chucked at the look of delight on everyone’s faces.

“You’re having a go!” Accused Ron, amused.

“No, I’m not. He actually said that.” Harry laughed.

“Well, anyway, Harry, look in the hollow log,” Ginny said. She and Draco moved aside so Harry could peer through the glass and into the space she’s indicated. Inside the false log was a snake. It was slightly smaller than the others and a startling shade of white, with glittering black eyes and fine, smooth scales. As it moved Harry saw that there was a large black patch on it’s back and on the tip of it’s tail. The black of it’s spots and eyes only made the sheer whiteness of it more startling.

Harry stared at it, it stared back.

“Hello.” Said Harry.

“Hello.” Said the snake.

“What’s your name?” asked Harry.

“No,” Said the snake, “nameless.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said. “You’re beautiful.”

“You are strange.” Said the snake, “Speaking. Too many eyes.”

Harry laughed and turned to his companions, who were gawking. “What?” He asked impatiently.

“You said your name,” Said Draco, “In a pack of spitting and hissing sounds, you said your name.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what did he say?” Hermione asked, gesturing towards the snake.

“She thinks I’m strange. My glasses confuse her,” Harry said.

They looked between Harry and the snake in wonder.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Ginny asked after a moment.

“She sounds like one,” Harry answered.

The others got owl treats and things and payed for them. Then Harry made a decision. Catching the eye of the saleswoman on duty, Harry asked if he could have a look at the snake.

“I just want to look at her,” Harry muttered to a triumphant-looking Hermione, “I’m not buying her.”

 

A few hours later and the whole troop had returned to Gryffindor tower. They were sitting by the fire, talking and taking turns holding Manasa, Harry’s beautiful new pet.

She was oddly friendly for a reptile and seemed to enjoy both the attention and the warmth that came from being handled.

She was also a bit snarky, and sometimes said things that made Harry laugh. Whenever this happened the others would exchange looks like they were a bit lost. Manasa mistrusted Ron, “Too big,” she said, “Makes big noises.”

Harry laughed, “He says you’re pretty.”

“Still too big.” She said, but she sounded pleased.

###

Harry did not have the chance to talk to Draco for a long time. He finally got an opportunity when the others had gone to see Hagrid. Harry remained behind, Draco had protested, saying he would mind his manners, but Harry insisted that he had potions homework to do anyway.

So there they were, Harry and Draco, sitting opposite one another on the floor of the otherwise empty common room, with the fire beside them and books spread out between them.

They both attempted to study for a while, but were repeatedly distracted by one another until they both gave up and lay their books aside.

“But _why_ don’t you just cut it?”

“You really aren’t one to talk, Malfoy, I’ve never seen your hair this long.”

“My hair is long _er_ , yes, but it isn’t _long_ and it isn’t messy, both of which are words that could be used to describe that kneezle nest on your head.”

Harry grinned and Draco returned the expression. A moment passed. Harry’s smile faded, and Draco’s vanished in response.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that, Potter. What?”

“I just… Can I see it?”

“See wha-- oh. No.”

Another moment of silence.

“Please?”

Draco snorted, “As if pleading would get anywhere with me. If this is how you get Hermione and Weasley to do things for you, I must say I’m disappointed in both of them. And that’s saying something, especially where Weasley’s concerned.”

Harry ignored this, “Draco it’s not… you’re not the first to wear it.”

“I know that,” he said sharply, “that’s the point.”

“No I mean, good men have born that mark. People make choices. Sometimes they’re wrong--”

“Stop. Whatever you’re doing, whatever _this_ is” Draco gestured widely at Harry and the surrounding area, “stop.”

Another silence.

“I have scars.” Harry said, “not just here,” he pushed his hair back, “here, too,” he showed Draco the back of his hand.

Draco glanced at it, still angry, but froze as he took in the words etched into Harry’s hand. _I must not tell lies_. He reached out slowly and Harry let him run his fingers across it, feeling the uneven scar tissue.

“What is that?”

“Umbridge.”

“What?” Draco looked up at Harry’s face, shocked.

Harry’s fingers wrapped around Draco’s left wrist, “I showed you mine.” He said softly.

Draco quirked an eyebrow at Harry’s choice of words, and then let out a heavy breath. He flipped his arm over and pulled back his sleeve.

Then it was Harry’s turn to stare. Shining, white against pale white, was the twisting, grotesque shape of the Dark Mark. With Voldemort’s defeat the mark had faded from a black tattoo-like print on the skin, to something that looked like a scar.

Slowly, hesitantly, Harry ran his fingertips over the old mark. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Did it hurt?” Harry wasn’t sure why he was whispering.

“Yes.”

Harry was quiet for a long time. He thought about his scars, about the marks Ron got at the ministry in their fifth year, and the ones given to Hermione by Bellatrix Lestrange. He thought about Bill’s face and George’s missing ear.

In the dim light of the fire he could see, protruding slightly from Draco’s collar, the thin lines of scars Harry himself had left with a curse he didn’t understand. He thought about the mark on Draco’s arm and the child who had accepted it, not really understanding what it meant beyond his family’s safety and prowess. He thought about others who had taken that mark and wondered how many of them had not understood what it would mean. Finally he spoke.

“Do you know who Regulus Black was?”

Draco blinked at the unexpected question. “Yes. He was a relative of mine. Brother of Sirius Black.”

Harry smiled a little. Draco said nothing, waiting for Harry to continue. And so Harry did.

He told Draco everything he knew about Regulus. He told him about his family life and background, about his lifelong desire to serve the Dark Lord and the pureblood line. He told him that Regulus had been only sixteen when he received the mark. He talked about horcruxes and R.A.B. and the role he played in the war. He talked about Kreacher. All the while he traced the lines of the mark on Draco’s arm, running his fingers lightly over it.

When he was done he still didn’t release Draco’s arm, and Draco didn’t reclaim it. Harry talked about Sirius and Draco talked about his parents and aunt. They talked about the war and all the fear and anger they’d felt at the things they’d both been asked to do. They talked for hours. About everything.

It was incredibly strange whenever Harry remembered that he was sitting in his own common room, sharing secrets and scars with Draco Malfoy, his oldest enemy. But then their eyes would meet or their knees would knock together lightly and it wouldn’t seem strange at all, and that would be more frightening still.

When, without any warning at all, the whole Gryffindor gang burst through the door into the common room, Harry dropped Draco’s arm and shot back, hitting his head against an armchair.

“Hey, Harry. You alright?” Ron asked as Draco crowed with laughter.

Harry shot him a look of annoyance before turning to Ron, “Yes, I’m fine, no thanks to you. Manasa’s right.” he said sounding bitter as he massaged the back of his head, “You make big noises.”

Ron laughed and chucked a wrapped parcel at Harry’s head, “Here’s your present from Hagrid. You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I disagree with J.K. Rowling’s conjecture that Harry would likely lose the ability to speak parseltongue after his and Voldemort’s deaths. I prefer to imagine that it was not, as supposed, a trait given to Harry via old Voldy’s soul. I prefer to believe that it was a gift of Harry’s own, partly because I love the similarities between Tom Riddle and Harry. Tom was a half-blood raised by muggles who discovered he could speak to snakes and immediately used this ability to do harm. Harry was a half-blood raised by muggles who discovered he could speak to snakes and immediately used this ability to hold polite small talk with a Brazilian boa constrictor. I love the idea of Harry eventually owning a snake.
> 
> The snake in this story gets her name from a Hindu snake deity (aka a "Naga"/"Nagini"), called Manasa or Mansa Devi.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new update! Hope you enjoy it!

### 

Chapter Four: Secrets and Starlight

Three days later and Christmas had come. It was a Tuesday evening, and the night of the dance. Hermione came into the Common Room just after seven, an irritated Draco in tow. Hermione looked lovely in soft, floaty, rose-colored dress robes and matching shoes. Her hair was done up elegantly and she wore a delicate gold necklace.

Draco would have looked amazing as well in his beautiful green robes and expensive shoes, if he hadn’t been scowling quite so forcefully.

“Where did you get him?” Ron asked, and then, “What have you been doing to him?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly. She went on, “I collected him from his dormitory.” She said as Draco rolled his eyes, “He’s going to the dance with us.”

Ron laughed, “Well, ‘course his is, but ‘why does he look like he’s got a toothache?’ is my question.”

Harry got the feeling that they’d talked about something on the way and didn’t want to share. He was curious as to what they could have discussed to make Draco look quite that angry or Hermione quite that flustered, but Harry dutifully steered the conversation into safer waters, and was rewarded with a grateful look from Hermione that confirmed his suspicions.

For the next hour they talked and laughed, Draco included, though he seemed to be avoiding looking at anyone. Harry, at least, couldn’t seem to catch his eye.

Ginny had gone to the dance with some seventh year boy named Jerard so Ron, Hermione, Draco, and Harry had determined to go as a group. When they set off to the ball room the four of them walked together, but by the time they reached the dance hall Hermione and Ron had broken off. Harry didn’t blame them.

Ron and Hermione danced nearly every dance. Harry danced with Hermione once, and Ginny once. Draco, to everyone’s surprise (especially given their supposed argument earlier) asked Hermione.

A brave Ravenclaw seventh year Harry didn’t know, but who was apparently called ‘Thanatos,’ came up to talk to Draco and meet Harry. It turned out Thanatos was in Advanced Herbology with Neville and Draco had been partnered with them early in the semester. He spoke in a charming, open way until the next dance started, and then invited Draco onto the floor, startling Harry and Draco alike.

Harry watched them enter the dance floor, bemused. He’d never thought much about how the wizarding world might view same-sex pairs, but judging by the way not a single person looked twice at the dancing boys, Harry concluded that it must be welcomed. He’d assumed that purebloods at least would be unreceptive to the idea, so much of their world seemed to revolve around bloodlines and strategic procreation, but Draco had not hesitated to take Thanatos up on his offer.

_It is just a dance._ He was a handsome guy, Harry thought, despite the terrible name. Thanatos was over a head taller than Draco, with black skin and bold, striking features. He and Draco seemed to be enjoying themselves, and they looked quite the pair.

When the dance ended and Thanatos’ date, a pretty girl in blue robes, reclaimed him Draco went to the punch bowl. Over the next few dances he seemed to return to his original state of vague discomfort.

Harry himself was starting to feel extremely uncomfortable. He felt as though all of the girls, and some of the boys now that he noticed, were watching him far too closely. He wondered if they were all hoping he’d ask them to dance. It didn’t help when Ron and Hermione came over to talk to him.

“Reminds me of sixth year,” Ron said suddenly, “you remember when girls started trying to slip you love potions?”

Ron and Hermione re-joined the party soon and Harry took a moment to talk to Hagrid before going to get a drink. The room was becoming steadily louder. He was feeling increasingly warm. He thought his robes were trying to suffocate him.

He took a drink, which did nothing to sooth either the feeling of suffocation or his flushed face, and absently wondered where Draco had got to. He scanned the room once, twice, but found that Draco was not there. He started to feel a bit panicked.

What if he’d gone for a walk alone? What if someone had seen him and followed? How long would he be hospitalized this time?

###

“Malfoy. What are you doing in here?” Harry asked, relief flooding his voice.

“What are you doing in here?”

_Looking for you._ “Uh… I saw the door ajar.”

“And what were you doing outside the Great Hall?”

“Walking.”

“Right.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Draco, from his place on the floor in the center of the Hall, turned his face up to the ceiling, resuming the attitude he’d had when Harry entered. He said nothing else.

Harry hesitated, and then walked over to sit next to him. Draco said nothing. The ceiling showed a cloudless, moonless night. Silver-white starlight lit the Great Hall in a way that was wonderfully dreamlike. Harry looked over at Draco casually, and caught his breath.

There was something elegant about Draco’s sharp, straight features at the best of times, but now, with the blasted light from the too-bright stars glancing off his cheekbones and pooling in his eyes... Harry was a bit mesmerized. The minutes passed as shadows played across Draco’s face and neck while Harry did his best not to stare.

His best must not have been good enough because Draco tore his eyes from the enchanted sky to give Harry a questioning look, one eyebrow raised.

“Draco’s a constellation, right?” Harry said suddenly. Draco blinked.

“Yeah,” his trademark sneer was spreading across his pale, white face, now turned silver by the night sky, “I forgot you’ve always been useless at astronomy.”

“We never studied const-- ” he broke off, seeing Draco’s smirk deepen, “you know what? I think I remember now.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I’ll bet you ten galleons I can find Draco in the sky. Right now.”

“You’re on.”

Harry pretended to consider the heavens while secretly closing his fingers around his wand.

“Go on, then, Potter. Where is it?” Draco challenged.

_Levicorpus!_ Harry thought, pointing his wand at Draco under his sleeve.

Draco let out a loud curse as he was drug up by the ankle, his wand was drawn before he came to a stop, dangling from midair. Harry struggled to keep his face blank as he pretended to scan the sky.

“I know it’s here somewhere.”

“Put me down, Potter!” Draco hissed.

Harry looked at him, jumping a little as if surprised to see him, “Ah!” he said, pointing at Draco with the hand not holding his wand, “There it is!”

“Let. Me. Down.”

“I told you I could find Draco in the night sky.”

“Yes, very clever,” Draco sneered, “Now cast the counter jinx before I hex you.”

Harry grinned and flicked his wand, allowing Draco to drop, landing on all fours. Once down, he sat again, stowing his wand and giving Harry a two-fingered salute.

Harry chuckled, “I’ll have my payment up front, thanks.”

###

The two boys were laying on their backs, bodies angled away from one another, but heads so close together they were nearly touching. Messy black curls mixed with soft white strands. Draco was pointing upwards and murmuring softly.

“It’s circumpolar. For those of us that got higher than “acceptable” in astronomy-- ow!” Harry’s hand had come up to lazily bat Draco’s head in irritation, “It means it never sets. That’s Thuban, or Alpha Draconis. It’s the Head of the Serpent and was once the North Star.” Harry hummed lightly.

“And over here’s Leo,” continued Draco, “the lion.”

“I don’t see a lion.”

“See that backwards question mark?”

“No.”

“Right there, look. No, Harry, right _there_ , where I’m pointing!”

“I still don’t-- “ Harry was interrupted by Draco grabbing his hand roughly. He formed Harry’s fingers into a suitable pointer, and directed him, tracing out the shape of the constellation.

“That’s the Sickle (backwards question mark) then it connects back like this to Chertan, here, and forms a triangle.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “Got it.”

There was a pause then Draco, still using Harry’s hand, traced it out again. Then:

“At the base of the sickle, there, is the Lion’s Heart.”

“Cool.”

“It’s… Regulus, the brightest star in Leo.” Draco dropped Harry’s hand as though it had suddenly burned him.

They lay there for a while in silence.

“Fine!” Draco muttered without warning, as though coming to a decision, “Fine. See Orion’s belt?”

“Yep.”

“Follow it down. That star? The brilliant one?”

“Uh-huh?”

Draco took charge of Harry’s left limb again, tracing out a shape in the stars, “This is Canis Major-- “

“So it’s a ‘Big Dog’ then?”

Draco made a noise that told Harry he was rolling his eyes with a vengeance, “Greater Dog, yes. And that bluish-white star we started at?” They pointed, “That’s Sirius, one of the brightest stars in the sky.”

“Oh,” Said Harry, very quietly.

Draco released Harry’s wrist more slowly this time, arms dropping onto his chest, Harry mirrored him. They lay there for a long time, neither saying so but both reluctant to return to the discomfort of the ballroom.

“Oh. Harry. Malfoy. What are you doing in here?” Ron had entered, Hermione’s hand in his. They eyed the two boys with suspicion.

“Stargazing,” Said Harry firmly.

“Oooo,” said Ron in a tone that made Harry color.

“Looks like a good night for it.” Hermione said quickly, jabbing Ron with her elbow in a way that was anything but subtle.

“What are you two doing here?” Harry asked, annoyed.

“Looking for you, mate,” Ron said, “the ball’s almost over.”

“We saw the door was open,” Hermione added.

Draco rolled his eyes and stood up, “Get up, Potter. If we don’t go they’ll send Filch to find us eventually. Pop quiz first, can you find them?” He wiggled his eyebrows in playful challenge.

Harry rolled his eyes and pointed up “Leo, with Regulus; Canis Major, with Sirius; and Tosser Major, with Thuban-- ouch!”

 

The four of them returned in time for the last dance of the evening. Ron said something quietly to Draco right as they entered the dance hall, which Harry couldn’t hear. Draco’s pale face flushed and he shot Ron a sour look. Ron grinned and offered Hermione his hand.They drifted off onto the dance floor.

Draco stalked up to Harry, with a look that made Harry wonder briefly if Draco was going to draw his wand and curse him. Instead, he offered Harry his hand (a bit forcefully) and said in a voice better suited to snide comments and scathing insults, “Want to dance, Potter?”

Harry blinked. “Are… Are you serious?”

“No,” he drawled lazily, “I’m standing on a dance floor in dress robes and attractive-yet-uncomfortable shoes, offering you my hand because I _don’t_ want to dance.”

Harry rolled his eyes and took the offered hand grudgingly, “I just assumed you didn’t want to waltz with _me_.” Harry grumbled, not looking at Draco or their interlocked fingers; not thinking about the arm around him or the hand on his back, while trying not to look as though he were avoiding thinking about any of these things.

“Well I’m not about to rumba with you,” Draco joked. Harry tried to look appropriately amused, as he had no idea what a rumba was.

A few uncomfortable seconds passed.

Draco spoke again, “Oh, for Mordred’s sake, Harry, relax. Charm and good breeding aren’t catching, I won’t infect you.”

Harry laughed, pretending not to notice the use of his given name for the second time that evening. And he did relax.

The two of them danced easily. Everything faded and grew quiet. There was Draco, who seemed to have absorbed the starlight, holding it in his eyes, lashes, and hair. Even his pale skin was strangely luminescent under the cool lights of the ballroom.

As untouchably starlike as Draco looked to Harry, he felt completely human. His arm was warm where it wound around Harry, his white hand held Harry’s darker one just tightly enough to feel undeniably real, the faint rise and fall of his breathing that filled the space between them, and which Harry could feel under his hand where it lay on Draco’s back-- It all felt decidedly present. A warm and insistent reality.

When the music stopped and the dance ended Harry was made abruptly aware of his position. He jumped back from Draco and looked around. It was like starting from a deep dream, jarring and unpleasant. Harry felt disoriented immediately, and was gradually getting embarrassed.

At some unknown point he and Draco must had drawn nearer. Now that there was some distance between them, Harry was becoming aware of how close they had been to one another. Draco, judging by the way his light skin was turning an amusing shade of Camellia pink, was coming to the same realization. He looked as startled as Harry felt. They really had been very close.

In fact, Harry was now sure he remembered Draco’s eyelashes brushing against the side of his temple at one point. _Merlin_ that dance hall was warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it's not super likely that you'd able to see all of these constellations by December 25 (Leo, for example, is more of an April kind of thing). If you disregard that, though, everything else said about the constellations should be accurate.  
> As always, reactions, questions, rants, and discussions on the meaning of time and existence are all welcome in the comment section XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the third and final part of our journey together.  
> I hope you’re all having as much fun as I am. Please enjoy this, the second-to-last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in the update, it was written on time but I have been unable to post due to lack of internet access. I don't have time to read the comments atm but I look forward to reading them in a week, I really appreciate everyone who leaves a comment or gives kudos. You're awesome. Please forgive and enjoy.
> 
> \- Finally edited the html a bit. Hopefully the formatting looks better.

# Part Three: The Blossoming of Love

### Chapter Five: Kinsey Scales and Dragon Tales 

It was clear that Draco had assumed that once the holidays ended and school resumed things, would go back to the way they were before the break. Harry, Neville, and Susan would follow him around incessantly and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would mostly ignore him, and he would spend most of his free time in the Slytherin common room. He maintained that it was safe for him now that there was more than one student in there at any given time.

Slytherins as a whole, he had explained, were always going to protect their own. While they might not be willing to trail around after him between classes like pathetic puppies in need of attention, they would never allow him to be attacked while they were present. So long as he was not alone, he was safe. Harry did not see it that way.

“If some of them wanted to get at you so bad that they devoted their entire holiday to it-- “ Harry had said.

“Only to be foiled,” Hermione had added, brandishing a finger.

“...Then you can bet they’re more determined than ever.” Harry had finished.

So, even with the return of the Slytherins in full force and with Neville and Susan back to help with protection detail, Draco was spending a lot of time with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.It seemed like the only time the four of them weren’t either in class or together, was during meals and after curfew. With reestablishment of the four house tables, Draco broke off from the group every time they entered the Great Hall. 

Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice as he looked up at the enchanted ceiling. The sky was cloudy and dark, blocking out the sun in a sea of gray and silver.

“Harry?! What are you grinning about? Did you hear what Hermione said?” Ron interrupted his thoughts loudly.

“What? No, sorry Hermione. What was it?” Harry said, blinking at her.

“Neville’s got a herbology assignment. He and Draco are in a group with two others and after last class they’re going to spend the day in the Forbidden Forest gathering plant specimens. Apparently Hagrid’s got babysit them, so we can’t go visit him today, either. We’ll have the whole day to ourselves.”

“Oh, uh-huh?” Harry said, looking over at the Slytherin table. Draco was eating with one hand and trying to put a spell on his book bag with the other. He was finally putting on some of the weight he had lost, Harry noticed offhandedly. A voice like Mrs. Weasley’s sounded in his head, _not nearly enough_ , it said.

_“Well, Harry? What do you think?”_

“Er, yes?” 

__

Quidditch practice ended with Harry feeling confident about his team’s chances for the cup. Harry wasn’t much worried about Ravenclaw this year, and Hufflepuff was doing surprisingly well but Harry was sure his team was better. Slytherin was a threat. After seeing the way his team flew today, though, Harry felt very good about their odds.

He and Ron had planned to meet Hermione by the lake. Halfway there Ron said he’d left something and sprinted back to the castle, calling over his shoulder for Harry to join Hermione.

Harry and Hermione started their slow walk along the lakeside in silence. Then Hermione cleared her throat and sighed.

“You know we love you, right?”

Harry stopped, turning to blink at her, “Yeah. I mean… Yeah. Me too, obviously…” he said awkwardly.

Hermione ran a nervous hand along the strap of her book bag and said, “Ron and I have been talking and,” She paused to take a deep breath, “Well, you haven’t been out much.”

She seemed to expect him to say something. “Hermione, we’re out _right now_.”

“No, I meant like romantically. On dates. With girls." 

“I went out with Cho--” 

“Yes, briefly, in our 5th year. But I mean now. You haven’t been seeing anyone?” It sounded like a question. 

“Come on, I would have told you. Besides, how would I hide something like that? Why would I?” 

“There’s no one you’re interested in?” She pressed. 

“I would have told you, wouldn’t I?” Harry repeated. 

“Well, we just thought you mightn’t if you thought we didn’t like them or if… maybe it wasn’t a girl?” 

“What?” Harry snorted, “Do you think I’ve got a thing for the Giant Squid?” 

Hermione colored, “No, we thought… since you’re muggle-raised you might not be comfortable with the idea of two men--”

“Hermione, I’m not gay,” Harry said, amused, “and while the Dursleys might, I haven’t got a problem with people being gay.”

“I’m sure you don’t consciously,” Harry tried to interrupt, but Hermione just raised her voice and her eyebrows, barreling on, “And clearly you aren’t gay, Harry, but… we thought you might be bisexual. You always seemed like you were a bit attracted to Bill, Dean, Zabini, Diggory--” 

“To be fair, everyone was ‘a bit attracted’ to Cedric.” Harry said. 

“You do realize straight men don’t usually say things like that, don’t you?” 

“Just because I can admit that another bloke is attractive--” 

“But there’s a difference between admitting someone _is attractive_ and admitting that you are _attracted to_ him.” Hermione said.

They resumed walking, not speaking for a moment. 

“You really think I’m gay?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Bisexual. Bi. As in both. Men and women.” 

“Listen, I don’t think so. I think I’d know,“ Harry said stubbornly.

“Okay. If you’re sure. Ron and I just wanted to make sure you know that we support you regardless of what you like or who you date.”

“Okay. Thanks?” Harry thought for a moment. “Wait… how long have you two been talking about this?” Hermione looked at him guilty. He narrowed his eyes at her as he spoke, “Ron said something about it in the Great Hall _months ___ago. I thought he was kidding.”

“Yes, well, we’ve wanted to talk to you for a while-- “

“You’ve wanted to know if I was gay for _months ___?”

“Bisexual, Harry.”

“ _Months? ___Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Well I wondered-- wonder-- if you even know yourself. Have you ever thought about it?”

“No. But don’t you think I’d know if I were?”

“Not necessarily, not raised by who you were. You didn’t realize that you’d been doing magic for 11 years until it blew down the door and gave your cousin a pig’s tail! Your aunt and uncle wanted to suppress it in you and it wouldn’t surprise me if they were the type of muggle who’d want to repress your sexuality, too. And, I’m sorry Harry, but you’ve never been any good at self-reflection.” She said. Harry eyed her in irritation.

“Fine. What do you want me to do? Go around kissing boys for a week, jot down a few notes, and report back?”

“Actually,” Hermione said as, to Harry’s horror, she reached into her bag and withdrew a large roll of parchment, “This is a Kinsey Scale test.” She said. Harry felt a wave of relief that it wasn’t notepaper, she continued, “I’ve done some reading and… it’s supposed to help you think about stuff like this. It’s normal for people to be unsure of where they fall on the scale and this can be helpful place to start questioning…” Harry sighed but allowed her to shove the parchment into his hands. “It’s enchanted to grade itself. You have to be completely honest, though.” She added.

“I don’t need a test to tell me who I am,” Harry said.

“No but… It’s just supposed to help you think. Please, Harry, just read it over sometime. Please?”

Soon after, Ron joined them. “So,” he greeted Hermione, “did you ask him?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “and she gave me some wonky test to take.” 

“It’s a Kinsey Scale test, it’s a scale from, zero to six, to see--"

“Where you sit on the gay-straight spectrum.” Ron finished for her. The other two stared at him until he explained, “Charlie took it once.” 

“What did he get?” Harry asked.

“X,” Ron said.

“X?” Harry asked, “I thought it was out of six?” 

“Yeah,” Ron said, “if you’re on the gay-straight spectrum.” 

“What?” Harry asked, now completely lost, “How can you not be?” 

“Charlie prefers eating cake to snogging and thinks dragons are more interesting than boys or girls.” Ron explained, shrugging. 

“Charlie’s asexual?” Hermione asked.

“What’s asexual?” Harry asked.

“Ron just explained what it is,” Hermione said.

“Well then why did you ask?”

______ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

###

That night when Harry was sure Ron was asleep, he took Hermione’s test, trying to be as honest as possible. He found some of the questions deeply embarrassing, and a lot of them were hard to answer. When he finished, he held his breath as the space at the bottom began to display words in a boring, neutral font, “3” his results read “You are equally heterosexual and homosexual. You feel romantic interest and sexual attraction to both genders and may identify as bisexual.” Harry wondered if Hermione had rigged the test.

 _Of course she didn’t,_ he reprimanded himself. Still, better to check. The parchment could be faulty.

He retook it, this time changing his answers to ones that sounded like something Charlie Weasley would say. _“X”_ the parchment concluded, _“You have no socio-sexual contacts or reactions. You likely do not experience sexual attraction, and may not experience romantic desire. You might identify as asexual.”_

__

&nbsp

He had been jumpy all day. Dean Thomas was in a good mood and his bright smile haunted Harry. Then he bumped into sixth year Ravenclaw boy on the third floor and apologized, red-faced. _Did I blush because he’s good-looking or because I just ran into him in an almost-empty passageway like an idiot?_ Neville passed him an ink well in class and for a moment Harry was afraid the that world had come to a dark, cruel ending and he was attracted to Neville Longbottom. A moment later, however, Harry realized he’d been over analyzing things.

He took a couple of deep breaths and shook his head to clear it. He was not interested in Dean Thomas or that random Ravenclaw and he was _certainly_ not attracted to Neville. Hermione was wrong and so was her test.

By the time he walked into potions he was feeling much better. He sat as his usual seat and waited for Slughorn to get started. 

“Alright, class! We’re going to be trying something new this afternoon, just to spice things up. Everyone find a partner from a different house. We’re going to be brewing Comitate Inimicus today!” There was some groaning, followed by shuffling around, as the class re-arranged itself. 

Harry gathered his things and walked to the desk next to Draco without pausing to think. Draco stared. 

“What?” Harry asked grumpily. 

“Nothing.” Draco said, still eyeing Harry. 

Harry set his cauldron down forcefully and met Draco’s gaze. They stood like that for a moment, just looking at each other. Harry felt like there was something caught in his throat and he couldn’t breathe properly. He’d noticed this happening a few times before, but what he had not noticed was that Draco’s gray eyes held the tiniest bit of blue near their centers. It was like seeing water among the stars.

Slughorn’s voice rang out, “Haha, boys, you’d better get started if you don’t want to fall behind. Miss Granger has already got a head start on you!” Harry jumped and turned to Slughorn. Slughorn winked and Harry, who felt his face flushing for the second time that day, spun to look at Hermione. She was giving him her best I’m-not-saying-anything expression as she shredded stapelia flowers. 

Harry tried to avoid making eye contact with Draco for the rest of the class, something that proved easy, as the potion was a challenging one. 

The next few weeks passed as Harry slowly processed the truth. He was taken aback by how astonishingly little his recent realizations changed. He was definitely attracted to males (Dean Thomas and that random Ravenclaw from the third floor included). This turned out to not really be a big deal. He’d always reacted this way to men, he just had never understood it to be attraction. 

He found Ginny and Susan very pretty, it had never made him weird or uncomfortable around them. He now recognized that he had thought Dean handsome long before he noticed that he thought Dean was handsome, and it had never made him weird around Dean either, because he didn’t think of Dean in terms of attractiveness any more than he did Ginny or Susan, they were just his (very good-looking) friends. So neither Dean or the Third Floor Ravenclaw were a problem. In fact, the problem seemed to be Draco. 

_It’s not because I’m more attracted to him, it’s just that it’s weirder that I am,_ Harry reasoned as he looked at Draco surreptitiously over the Herbology homework he was pretending to do. 

It was their free period and they were sitting in the armchairs next to the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. No one even bothered to looked Draco’s way anymore, the entirety of Gryffindor was now thoroughly accustomed to the sight of the Slytherin in their common room. Manasa was slowly climbing up Draco’s shoulder, it didn’t seem as though Draco had noticed yet.

 _But, I mean, objectively, from an outside point of view… If you didn’t know what a colossal prat he is…_ Harry ducked his head as Draco glanced up, the firelight catching in his white eyelashes and casting strange, feathery shadows across his cheeks. _It’s just because he’s not as established as a friend. In my head. That’s what it is._

In that moment Harry came to two realizations. First, that he was an abysmal liar; second, that he unequivocally considered Draco his friend. 

Harry looked up at his newfound friend in wonder. Draco had finally noticed Manasa and had pulled her off his side and set her in his lap. He was stroking the back of her head with one finger as he read. 

“Warm. But very silly.” She told Harry. 

“Silly?” Harry asked. Draco’s eyes snapped up to him, but Harry was focused on his pet, “What’s he done this time?” He asked.

“This not as warm. Skin is warm.”

“Were you hoping he’d let you wiggle under his jumper?” Harry asked, amused. He sometimes let her lay over his shoulders and worm her tail under his collar when she was cold, but no one else gave her the chance.

“Yes,” She answered, “But he is silly.”

“It’s not that silly, Mans. You feel cold to him.”

“Not if he makes warm.” She answered petulantly.

Harry looked up, grinning, to see Draco watching him. “What did she say?” Draco asked.

“She’s complaining.

“What on earth does she have to complain about?”

“The closer she is to you, the warmer she is.

“Oh,” Draco said with a sneer, “She thinks that just because her owner is a giant marshmallow everyone else is going to let her put her cold, scaly body wherever she wants. Is that it?”

“You’re right,” Harry told Manasa, “He is very silly.”

__

__

###

The Easter holidays were fast approaching and they were all avoiding the question of who was going to stay with Draco. After a few days of uncertainty, the four of them were sitting at a table in the Gryffindor common room. Harry had fallen asleep on his arms.

Voices filtered through his sleepy ears as he started to wake up.

“No, I’m not going home, and no you’re not all staying. Mordred, you three are ridiculous.”

“Everyone else is going away again.” Hermione argued, “And we can’t just leave you here, Draco.”

“Yes you can, I’m not a child.”

“Malfoy, mate, Hermione’s right. Even if we thought you’d be fine, Harry’s not going to let us leave you. You know how he gets.” Harry resented that last bit. The year he’d spent on the run had made him cautious, but it hadn’t turning him into some kind of… Moody or something.

“You’re right,” Draco said, “ _He’s_ even more impossible than you clowns.”

“Look, he’s never going to agree to let you stay here by himself. You know he’d rather sacrifice his own comfort than let you get hurt,” Ron half whispered. Harry practically _heard ___Draco’s eyeroll. “But,” Ron went on, “I think he’d like to go to the Burrow for the holiday; and Mum’s set on having him over.”

“Yes,” drawled Draco, “best not let Mummy down, she must have quite the temper, with hair that color.” 

“Draco--” Hermione warned. 

“Well, what do you want me to do about it? _I_ don’t see a solution, do you?” 

“Molly says you can come to the Burrow with us.” Hermione said.

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m not. I won’t.” 

“It’s only fair,” Ron said, “He’s already given up one holiday for you." 

“But we only want to do it if you’re going to try to be pleasant.” Hermione added quickly, “Mrs. Weasley is one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever--”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you worship the earth under her impoverished feet,” Draco interrupted. There was a tense pause. Then, “Fine,” Draco said, “I’ll do it. And _yes_ Granger, I’ll be all sunshine and daisies to Mr. and Mrs. Mink.”

“I’d stop with the weasel jokes, Draco,” Harry said, stretching his arms and rubbing his eyes, “We’ve not forgotten a certain white ferret we all met in fourth year.” Harry looked up at Draco from his position slumped across the table, “I personally liked him but I’m not sure you’d appreciate his reappearance.”

Three bright red faces avoided Harry’s eyes, as though they’d thought they were having a covert conversation. Right in front of him. Harry rolled his eyes.

__

###

On the first evening of spring break, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and Draco appeared a short walk from the Burrow, clutching a suitcase apiece and dressed in muggle clothes. Draco looked extremely apprehensive, something that didn’t bode well for Harry’s hopes that he’d be civil. As the sun set behind them, the four walked the short distance to the Weasley’s home in relative silence.

Harry was still unsure about this whole thing, and had only agreed to come because he’d been compelled to by a warm letter from Mrs. Weasley specifically asking him to spend the holiday with at the Burrow, and assuring him that “any friends of yours, Harry dear, will always be welcome.”

Just before their little party reached front porch, Molly Weasley opened the front door. Out poured five Weasleys, Fleur’s golden hair standing out in a sea of ginger.

“Charlie’s not here?” Ron called over his mother’s shoulder as she embraced him.

“He’ll be here in a few days.” said Percy.

Mrs. Weasley had released Ron and was now giving Hermione warm hug. The others crowded around, patting backs and punching shoulders. Fleur was also doling out hugs, having claimed Ginny first, and then Harry.

When Mrs. Weasley reached him she whispered “Welcome home, Harry,” as she wrapped him in a hug. Harry pretended that he had not gone slightly pink and that his eyes had not stung at the words, and hugged her back firmly.

She released him and turned to Draco, who had looked mildly uncomfortable before, but who now turned to her, eyes wide with trepidation.

“Ah, Draco. Welcome.” She said, leaning in and giving him a one-armed hug. Draco patted her lightly, looking as though he was poised to run.

She pulled away as Fred shouted, “Don’t suffocate him, Mum!”

“Yeah, Mum,” George added, “He’s not used to affection!”

Molly turned to admonish her sons, but Harry caught the look of relief on Draco’s face. Draco, Harry felt sure, had been ready for hostility, maybe even icy diplomacy, but he had been completely unprepared for Mrs. Weasley’s heartfelt welcome. Harry tried to communicate “I told you so” with his eyebrows behind Molly’s back.

Soon enough the welcome party ushered the four of them inside. Ron led the way to his bedroom, where Harry had always stayed when he came and which Draco would now share with them.

Harry smirked at the look on Draco’s face.

“It’s…”

“Fantastic, right?” Harry grinned, dropping his bag on the floor.

“Worse than your common room! Why is it _orange?_ Everything is… _so_ orange.”

Harry laughed and clapped Ron and Draco on the backs, “Well, I can smell your mum’s cooking already, Ron, so I’m off.” 

Draco sat between Harry and Hermione. Ginny sat opposite him and gave him a knowing smile. He returned it a little sarcastically, but Harry saw that he’d relaxed considerably. Harry grinned at Ginny and she gave him a wink. This seemed to irritate Draco, to Harry’s delight 

Draco didn’t say much at dinner, other than when he got in an argument with Percy over homecare potion regulations and when Fleur engaged him in a discussion held in rapid fire French. 

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” Harry said to Draco. 

“Your _petit ami_ speaks very well, Aarry.” 

Draco colored slightly. “No. No, no,” he said, with an impressively convincing fake laugh, “ _Pas mon petit ami, mi bon ami. >_” 

_“Ah, no! Pardon!_ Although, you know, _c’est triste._ I like you, Draco.” She said.

Draco laughed again and shifted in his seat. He glanced at Harry, “ _au moins quelqu'un fait._ ”

Bill laugh, Draco turned to him, eyes narrowing. “You speak French, too?” he asked, looked somehow more embarrassed than before. Bill just grinned and took his wife’s hand. Draco looked around “How many of you?”

Four or five people laughed at this as Bill assured Draco that it was just himself and Fleur.

While Harry didn’t speak French, he was pretty sure he knew what Fleur’s mistake had been. Harry, along with half the table, pretended not to have heard a word.

The rest of the holiday went by easily. The twins had snark offs with Draco a few times, but they all seemed to enjoy themselves. After the first night or two, Draco relaxed, even surrounded as he was by redheaded blood traitors.

One of the highlights of the trip was the friendly games of quidditch. When Harry first jumped on his broom he felt the same rush flying always gave him. The weather was starting to warm up and the wind felt delicious as it brushed his cheek and whipped through his hair.

Draco was just as competitive in the Weasley’s backyard as he was on the Hogwarts pitch. He and Harry streaked through the air, just avoiding knocking one another off their brooms and weaving between the other players. Somehow, Harry and Draco wound up on the same team for the third game. They had broken for lunch when Charlie had arrived and when they split back up Draco was on Bill’s team, Charlie on Arthur's. They played for hours.

On the last night of their stay they were seated around the table, just having finished dinner. They joking and discussing quidditch when Mrs. Weasley declared, “there’s something you’re father’s been meaning to say.”

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. Everyone went quiet and watched him expectantly. He look at Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in turn as he spoke, “You’re all adults now. You’re about to leave school for good. That means a lot of good things, there lots of things for you to do and experience now, but it also means responsibility. You can’t lose sight of what’s important. Friends, family, what’s right here, at this table.”

Harry felt Draco stir next to him and felt a strange urge to touch him, to pat his back or something. Harry didn’t move, he may have even stopped blinking. 

Mr. Weasley started polishing his glasses as he went on, “You’ll have to decide your priorities for yourselves. If you value anything or any person, if you want them stay in your life, you have to make the effort. When you know what is important you have to do more than just leave room for it, life doesn’t let you just leave room. You either pursue it or it fades away.” 

“Like when Charlie went off to Romania,” Mrs. Weasley put it, looking fondly at her son.

“Yes, exactly,” agreed Mr. Weasley, “He decided family was a priority. It isn’t as easy as it seems to stay in contact, to visit, to send letters once you’ve grown up. Even for Bill and Percy, and the twins, and they all live in England.” 

“Come on, Dad, we do a great job, don’t we Fred?”  
‘That we do, George. Come home to eat every time we get hungry, don’t we?” 

Mr. Weasley chuckled. 

“All of you do a wonderful job,” Mrs. Weasley said fondly, “It would be nice to see some of you a bit more,” she glanced at Percy and then Bill, “but we know you’re busy with your own lives. That’s what your dad’s trying to say. If it’s important you have to fight for it, and it isn’t easy.”

When the holiday was over Mrs. Weasley sent them all back with more homemade sweets than any of them could possibly want. It had been satisfying for Harry, seeing Molly fuss over Draco at every meal. She by no means neglected to strongarm Harry into seconds and thirds of _everything_ ; but oh! how she had lamented at Draco’s thin frame! Harry grinned into his potatoes the first time she had forced yet another helping onto Draco’s plate. Harry had relished the quiet panic in the other boy’s eyes. The sight didn’t get less enjoyable as it became more common, either.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare urselves. The final chapter will arrive shortly.  
> Apologies for my abhorrent French, “Petit ami” means boyfriend; “au moins quelqu'un fait” means “at least someone does.”  
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated and noticed. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The big one. The one we’ve all been waiting for.  
> I’d like to take a moment, now, to thank a few people.
> 
> First and foremost, my great friend and amazing beta, Natasha, without whom this story would suck and would never in a million years have found it’s way online! Tosh: thnks fr evrytng ur amzng <3.  
> Next, I have to mention my trial readers, Isabel and Sonja: Your encouragement has been vital. You gave me the courage to post this.  
> Finally, I’d like to thank everyone that has read this story, hit the kudos button, bookmarked, and/or written a comment: thank you so much. It has meant more than you can know.

### 

Chapter Six: The Beginning is in the End

The first time Draco sat at the Gryffindor table he and Harry had been arguing so heatedly on the subject of broom handle regulation for international games, that neither noticed when they had come to stand next to the table. Hermione had caught hold of them by the sleeves and guided them to chairs. The boys didn’t seem to fully take in their surroundings, even when dinner appeared, making them drop their argument.

“ _And_ that’s another thing!” Draco announced, reaching for some biscuits, “Hermione, you got ten points in class for saying that there is no defensive magic designed specifically to fight nymphs.”

“Yes, because there isn’t. Nymphs are protective sprites, they don’t generally pose a threat--” “Yeah, but you’re wrong. I read about a confusion spell created to fool nymphs,” “But that’s used to steal! Historically it’s been cast on guardians of trees whose wood or fruit was particularly precious. The caster would then--” “Regardless of past use, you can’t deny the spell’s potential as defensive,” Draco said. “I don’t think you can ignore the spell’s intended purpose.” Hermione said. 

Draco opened his mouth to reply when he pulled a strange face and look up and down the table, “This is the Gryffindor table.” he said.

“Well spotted,” Hermione joked, “You’re starting to sound like Harry.”

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed reproachfully.

“No, I’m not.” Draco was still looking around, eyes flitting from person to person down the length of the table, “Why did you let me sit here?”

Ron snorted at him, annoyed, “Yes, you are. And, if you hadn’t noticed, no one cared. They’re so used to you practically living in their common room, at this point they don’t care where you eat.”

“But _I_ do.” Draco muttered, but stayed where he was.

After that he ate with the group fairly regularly. Whenever Hermione wanted to discuss politics or Harry and Ron needed potions help, he ate with them. One day Draco and Neville even ate at the Ravenclaw table with Thanatos and (to Harry’s dismay) a very handsome sixth year that Harry recognized from an embarrassing encounter in a third floor corridor. This, then, was their Advanced Herbology work group.

Harry had been extremely surly, something Hermione mistakenly attributed to Thanatos’ hand resting on Draco’s arm for unnecessarily long periods of time. Harry made sure that it was not a particularly enjoyable meal for anyone at the Gryffindor table that evening.

 

Exam week came sooner than made any logical sense. The last days leading up to the first exam were already a strange, half-remembered blur by the time Harry sat for his last NEWT. By the next Monday he could recall nothing from the past two weeks but fatigue and a dull kind of panic.

It took hours after the last test papers were collected for Harry to calm down enough to contemplate that the remaining three weeks were not only class and homework free, but were to be his last in Hogwarts.

That night Harry dreamed the sun was rising over Hogwarts. The red dawn light turned everything a lovely rosey color. The light spread across the quidditch pitch, swept across the castle’s stony side, and turned the lake into a shining red jewel.

It was stunning. Harry stood transfixed. When he looked up at the sky directly overhead he saw that the glow of the growing sunrise was choking out the stars. He watched, helpless, as he lost sight of them one by one. He tried uselessly to stop them from being snuffed out, but he couldn’t reach them. The long tendrils of sunlight stretched towards the last remaining star.

“No! Please!” Harry jerked awake. His hand was outstretched, reaching into the darkness above him. His throat felt raw, and he was sure he had shouted.

From somewhere to his left, a muttered, “You alright Harry?” told him he’d woken Ron.

“Yep. Sorry. Go back to bed.” A second later the sound of a familiar snore informed Harry that Ron had taken his advice.

 

###

A week of sunny days by the lake and cool pumpkin juice at Hagrid’s cottage passed. One night they had a party with all of the DA members, plus Draco and minus Marietta. A few morning were spent in friendly inter-house quidditch games. An afternoon was spent in the Forest with Hagrid, gathering ingredients for Slughorn.

Then, on the last morning of their lives as students, an owl came with Hermione’s _Daily Prophet_. The arrival of mail had caused a larger stir than usual, and Harry noticed that the Great Hall seemed to be filled with louder, more excited chatter than was normal.

Hermione paid the owl, took her paper, and scanned the front page. She gasped and bumped Ron’s arm, spilling his coffee and drawing his attention to the paper. 

“What?!” Harry demanded, “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s _happened_ , per se,” Hermione said, “You’re on the front page again.”

“What for?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Just rumour and gossip, as usual.”

“I’m on the front page over rumours?”

Hermione nodded.

“Oh, come off it, Hermione, he’s going to see it eventually--” Ron was cut off by a loud _thud!_ as a copy of the _Prophet_ was dropped in front of Harry, who gasped.

On the front page was a black and white photo of Harry and Draco. They were sitting on the earth beneath Harry’s favorite tree. Light streamed down through the leaves and a soft breeze was dancing in the grass and stirring Harry’s hair. Harry and Draco were seated closer together than Harry remembered them being. They were looking at one another, the shadow of laughter still in their faces and something far softer in their eyes. There was something private in the openness of their expressions, something intimate.

It was a breathtaking photo, artistically speaking, and certainly more flattering than any picture of him the paper had ever run before. Still, Harry fervently hoped that he never had to see such a sappy look on his own face ever again.

It dawned on Harry that for the _Prophet_ to have landed on the table in front of him, someone must have dropped it. Slowly Harry looked up. The eyes that glinted at him from above were the same shade of silver as the eyes in the beautiful photo on the table. They were the same size and shape, framed in the same white lashes, and yet… they looked different. _Maybe it’s the way this pair screams “murder.”_ Harry thought.

“Granger,” Draco said stiffly, turning towards Hermione, “A word.” He stalked out of the Great Hall, leaving Hermione to scramble after him.

“Way to make a scene,” Ron muttered.

Harry returned to the paper, avoiding looking at the picture and focusing on the text surrounding it. His own name assaulted him from the headline “HARRY POTTER, UNEXPECTED ROMANCE” and then, in smaller print, “THE NEXT CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OF THE CHOSEN ONE?” Harry looked up at Ron as if hoping for answers.

“You’re doing that thing, the one that makes you look like an angry fish?” Ron said.

Harry closed his mouth and resumed reading: 

_“Harry Potter has once again confounded all who thought they understood the MO of The Boy Who Lived._

_‘One might expect the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, to be the enemy of ex-Death Eaters,’ says one Gary Bracekin, of the Auror Department._

_‘I think that no one expected him to go around picking fights with everyone that was ever persuaded to take up with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but we definitely didn’t expect him to openly court the son of Lucius Malfoy. I’ve even heard that the Malfoy boy himself took the Dark Mark,’ said one anonymous source in the Ministry. Indeed, it seems safe to say that no one anticipated an alliance of any sort to develop between Harry, the Wizarding world’s favorite heroic heartthrob, and Draco Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, Draco’s father--”_

The article went on to detail Lucius’ history with Voldemort, included in stint in Azkaban. Harry took a moment to cringe again at the words “heroic heartthrob” and then flipped to page seven to scan through the rest of the article.

His eyes lighted on a passage near the end.

_“... the unlikeliness of the match almost leads one to wonder if the young Malfoy has ulterior motives for this close association with our Chosen One. We can only hope that he is being honest about his intentions and that he will do right by Harry.”_

Harry closed the _Prophet_ irritably. He looked back at the photo on the front page. It was captioned, “Harry Potter and ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy share a private moment in the sun.”

 _That’s right._ Harry thought, _It was private. Where did they get this picture? Did a student take it?_ That seemed doubtful. The picture was stunning, it was hard to imagine anyone but a professional taking a shot like that.

____

Harry glanced at the image. His photographic self just crinkled up his eyes and showed photographic Draco more of his teeth. They blinked at each other stupidly. _What a sap._ Harry found the byline. _Of course._

“Ron, guess who wrote this article.”

“I dunno… wait. No way. She _can’t_ have.” Harry flipped the paper around and pointed. Rita Skeeter. “Well,” Ron said, “she always get at the truth somehow, eh Harry?” Harry was spared responding by Hermione and Draco’s return. Draco plucked the _Prophet_ from Harry’s fingers and swept over to his own house table without a word.

“He’s moody today,” Ron said. Harry raised his eyebrows, “Well,” Ron said defensively, “He’d going to have to get used to this kind of stuff. He’d better get comfortable before the article about him viciously breaking your heart and stealing your last cauldron cake comes out.”

“What did Draco want?” Harry asked Hermione and trying not to think about how embarrassing it was going to be if the _Prophet_ continued to publish articles on the subject.

“Tell you later,” She said.

 

That evening the three of them were tucked away in a quiet corner of the common room. Draco was with his Advanced Herbology group, the whole class was having a party to celebrate surviving test day. It did not bother Harry in the least that Thanatos and the hot Ravenclaw would be there.

“Hermione,” Harry said, suddenly very quiet, “about that photo in the _Prophet_ …”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Do you think it might have been tampered with?”

Hermione cocked her head to the side, “Why do you ask?” 

“I don’t… I mean that isn’t…Well, do you think it has been?' 

“No, I don’t. I’ve looked into it but I don’t think it’s been altered or enhanced in any way. Why though? What made you think that it might have been?” She pressed, fixing him with a piercing look. 

“It’s just… I don’t actually look like that, right?” 

“It’s a very nice photo, Harry.” Hermione said. 

“Yeah, mate. You look great.” 

Harry struggled for a minute, then let out a deep sigh. “I don’t actually look at him like that, do I?” 

Hermione stared for a moment and burst out laughing. 

“It’s not funny Hermione!” Harry hissed, reddening. 

“It kind of is, mate,” Ron said, grinning. 

“You don’t understand, Harry. That’s what Draco wanted to talk to me about, he thought the photo had been meddled with somehow, but he didn’t say why or what kind of tampering he suspected.” 

“Oooh, I hope he suspects the same kind Harry does!” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back and laughing. Harry looked away irritably. Hermione pulled the paper from her bag, smoothing it out and setting it on her lap. Harry looked over at it. 

Seeing the looks between the two of them, Harry half expected his black-and-white self to try to hold Draco’s hand or kiss him. In fact, when he had first seen the image on the front of the _Prophet_ , he had been terrified that the picture people would do exactly that. But now, just as before, they two stared into one another’s eyes, unmoving except for their matched breathing and erratic blinking. 

“Harry, if you ever do it for that long in front of me,” Ron said, “I _will_ hex the both of you. That’s just indecent.” 

“But why aren’t we moving?” Harry asked, choosing to ignore Ron, “it’s definitely enchanted, look at the wind. But we aren’t trying to push each other out of shot or anything. If it hasn’t been messed with then why aren’t we acting like normal a normal photograph?” 

“Harry, photos aren’t like paintings, they don’t have quite as much… life.” 

“I know,” Harry said, thinking of a little book Hagrid had given once given him, “but they can move more than to just blink and smirk.” 

“They’re snapshots, they capture the emotion of the moment.” Hermione said. 

“You remember when you had that picture take of you and Lockhart?” Ron interjected. 

“Yeah,” 

“And little photo-you kept trying to get out of frame?” Ron continued. Harry nodded. “Well, that’s because when the photo was taken you desperately wanted to be out of shot, so that’s what got left behind on the picture.” 

“I imagine you and Draco both felt like you’d have been perfectly content to remain in that moment forever when the picture was taken, and so you have.” 

Harry was starting to get angry. He hadn’t signed up for this. Help Neville out? Yes, good. Stop people beating up Malfoy in between classes and over the holidays? Alright. Become accidental friends? Ok. Take Draco to the Burrow and integrate him completely into Harry’s friend group? _FINE_. But this? This was too much. 

Harry stood up and walked out of the porthole, letting the painting of the Fat Lady swing shut behind him. Shaking his head and walking fast, he made his way onto the grounds. Harry had almost reached the whomping willow when he noticed he was being followed and turned to see Ron hurrying after him. 

Harry sat down out of reach of the willow’s longest branches and let out a heartfelt sigh. As he did so he felt all his angry energy leave him. He had no one to be angry with. 

When he turned to greet Ron he decided that he may have come to that conclusion too soon, as Ron was carrying the newspaper with him. Ron took a seat next to Harry silently. They sat there for a long time without saying anything. Finally Harry spoke. 

“I like girls.” 

“Yeah, I know. I noticed. I’m observant like that.” Ron joked. 

“A lot.” Said Harry. 

“Sure you do, mate.” Said Ron cheerfully. There was another long pause.

“I like guys, too.” 

Ron snickered, “Yeah, I know. I’d noticed.” 

Harry threw a twig at him.

“It’s not weird?”

“What are you on about? ‘Course it’s not _weird ___. Blimey, Harry, haven’t we been through this already? Ages ago?”

“No, I mean… It’s not just guys. It’s that… I’m a bit attracted to... Malfoy. That’s weird, right?”

Ron gave Harry a look that was equal parts amusement and frustration. He held up the picture from the _Prophet __._

“Harry, that is not attraction, my friend.That’s not even remotely what attraction looks like.” He jabbed a finger at the image, “ _That_ isn’t even _affection_. That’s tenderness, that is. L-O-V-E. _Love._ Romance. You’re a complete goner for Malfoy.” Ron was choking on laughter before he’d reached the end of his speech. He wiped his watery eyes and continued, “And yeah, it’s a bit weird, and a lot funny, but it’s good for you, good for both of you.”

“Both of us? No. No. no.” Harry was shaking his vehemently.

“Harry, Malfoy’s right about one thing: you can be really dense.” Harry tried to look appropriately offended, but his heart wasn’t in it. Ron went on, “We’ve graduated, Harry. We’re not school kids anymore. We aren’t going to have classes and homework and vengeful groups of 3-7 Malfoy-hating fifth years to bring us together. What was it Dad said? At dinner?”

Harry tried to think, “Something about choosing who stays in our lives?” He said slowly.

“Right. He said everyone who’s in our lives from now on are going to be there because we decide we want them there. That definitely includes Malfoy, Harry.”

Ron and Harry sat by the Willow for a few minutes longer, and then they went inside and found Hermione, Draco, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Dean, and Seamus. They spent the rest of the night together and most of them only went to bed only a few hours before sunrise. Draco left to sneak back to his common room sometime after two. A few minutes later Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map.

He caught up to Draco easily. He snuck up quietly and tapped Draco hard on the shoulder. This was very nearly a fatal mistake. Draco spun around before Harry had time to blink, whipping out his wand and pointing that the place Harry’s hand was occupying in space.

“If that is you Peeves--”

Harry interrupted him by pulling off the cloak. Draco dropped his wand at the same time and speed that he rolled his eyes, making him look like some kind of ridiculous wind-up doll.

“Just like you to be sneaking about after hours,” He sneered. 

“Look who’s talking,” Harry said. Draco raised his eyebrows but Harry ignored him, “anyway, I came to make sure you didn’t get caught on the way back. I know you’re a bit of an amatuer.”

“Bugger off.”

“Get under the cloak.” 

As soon as they were both invisible and on their way it became clear that Harry had miscalculated. His clever plan to ensure that neither of them get caught had been that the two of them would go to the dungeons, wait until the map gave the all clear, have Draco leave the cloak and enter his common room, and then Harry would return to his dormitories. An excellent plan for sneaking around undetected, but a terrible plan as far as general comfort goes.

The cloak was never made to conceal two people. When they were young he, Ron, and Hermione could easily fit. Every year it grew harder, but they had not tried it in a long while. There was a reason.

In order for the two of them to move together, both hidden from view, Draco and Harry were so close to one another that Harry could smell Draco’s hair and feel his body heat. One of Draco’s hands was actually resting on Harry’s back for part of the trip, reminding Harry of when they had danced at Christmas. They had to pause a few times to let first Peeves, and then Mrs. Norris, pass them. The third time they stopped Harry leaned over to see the evil cat pass. His breath ghosted Draco’s neck, causing Draco to shiver and making Harry deeply thankful that it was far too dark for his blushing face to be visible when he straightened back up. In the end, it turned out to be one of the longest walks of Harry’s life.

When the reached the dungeon and it was time for Draco to leave, he pulled off the cloak, took a hasty pair of steps back, and immediately donned his old, mocking sneer. In a voice just slightly higher than his own he said, “Thanks for walking me back, Harry. I had such a great time.”

Harry rolled his eyes and flipped him off, but he was grinning as he set out on his way back to his own dorm for the last time.

 __

###

The train ride was pleasurable. Hermione had done the work and snagged Draco before he could exile himself to an empty compartment somewhere, and the four of them took the journey together.

They talked and joked and ate sweets. Harry kindly pretended not to see when Hermione and Ron’s gazes lingered or they got a little too wrapped up in each other’s smiles. It was only fair, given that all three of his companions were dedicated in ignoring the way Harry would get lost for a while, staring out the window and looking at the floor. They were less dedicated to ignoring the occasional look he may have cast in Draco’s direction.

Before boarding the train that morning, Hermione and Ron had “suggested” that Harry “seriously consider” having an “open conversation” with Draco “just about how you feel.” Harry had every intention of ignoring that advice.

More uncomfortably still, Ron kept giving Harry meaningful looks and Hermione sent him repeated “thumbs up” which there was no possible way Draco could have avoided seeing if he’d been trying. Which he might have been. At one point, Hermione even engineered an almost-subtle excuse for Harry and Draco to be alone in the compartment.

When they got back and saw that Draco watching, fascinated as Harry and Manasa held what looked like a very deep conversation, Hermione gave Harry a deeply disappointed look. Ron covered for her by passing out little packages Luna had given them. The packages held a picture of a weird little imp with long, curling and eight toes, some handmade sweets, and an invitation to a party at her home in a few weeks.

Apart from the scheming, the ride was wonderful, and Harry found himself wishing that they could remain on the train for days; but they couldn’t. Eventually, the train pulled in to King’s Cross, and they all shuffled onto the platform.

“Where are you going to be staying?” Harry asked Draco as they waited together for the Weasleys to arrive.

“An apartment in London. It’s paid for by the program.” Draco’s tone was casual but he was not looking at Harry, “You?”

“Well, I’m going to the Burrow for a few days and then I’ll be heading to London myself. Sirius had a place, a lot smaller than his family home. Ron and I’ll be rooming together.”

Harry could see the Weasleys in the distance, and for once the sight of them hurrying towards him made him feel upset rather than safe. He was running out of time. Harry started panicking. Draco looked like he intended to flee before Mrs. Weasley had the chance to force him into eating an entire Thestral or something. His knuckles were growing white where they gripped his trunk.

Harry looked down and saw that his own knuckles were a similar shade. He took a few hasty, deep breaths. This was not the plan. This was not the plan _at all._ This was a very bad idea. But when did the combination of a lack of planning and a very bad idea ever stop Harry Potter?

Ginny had joined their group and the Weasleys were in clear view because Harry had waited to the last second. Too late now. This was happening. Harry let his trunk fall from his grasp with a thunk. His friends looked at him curiously. 

Harry met Draco’s eyes. Draco’s expression went from casual interest, to mild concern when he saw the intensity of Harry’s gaze. A moment longer and look like fear crossed his eyes. But it was too late. Harry was already leaning in. 

Harry gently held Draco’s face between his hands and, very softly, brushed his lips against Draco’s. He almost expected Draco to pull away or even disapparate on the spot. 

What Harry had not expected was for Draco to make a little sound of alarm. Harry had not expected, after a very long millisecond, for Draco to lean into his touch. Harry certainly had not expected to feel Draco’s fingers card through his hair, tangle in his curls, and use it to draw them even closer together. Surprises, Harry thought, were good. Very good.

When Harry pulled back a little Draco was giving him a smug smile. 

“What?” Harry said.

“Have fun dealing with hoard of Weasleys coming this way. I hope you know they saw that.”

“What do you mean, ‘have fun?’ You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” Harry said.

Harry leaned in again and caught Draco’s smirking mouth in a another kiss, this one not so hesitant but still achingly gentle. Hands caressed faces, traced along throats, ran acrossed shoulders. Fingers tangled in hair, swept over backs, and wound into fabric. Every movement tugged the two of them closer and closer. Harry wasn’t sure if he was breathing. There was a feeling in his chest that he couldn’t name. It was flying, it was the smell of the Burrow and the sound of Hagrid’s kettle. It was Sirius’ laugh, it was fairy lights at Christmas and the Giant Squid eating toast. It was Hermione’s color-coded notes and Ron’s chess set. It was de-gnoming gardens, playing quidditch, and walking down Diagon Alley. It was home.

All day Harry had been thinking that the train was taking him away from the first home he could remember. He was right. Hogwarts lay behind him now. The first place he had been welcome, the place that had given him people who cared about him, people he had been willing to fight for, to die for. What Harry had not understood until now was that the train was also bringing him to another home, another place to belong, new things to fight for with life and limb, new lessons to learn.

Mr. Weasley had been right, if Harry wanted Draco to stay in his life, it wasn’t going to be easy. Harry had decided it was worth it, and he was going to do what was necessary, even if that meant abandoning all good sense and snogging Draco on platform nine and three-quarters in front of the entire Weasley clan.

Harry sighed against Draco’s mouth and felt him smile in response.

"Oi!” a voice that sounded like Fred’s called, “If you two are ready to kindly disentangle,”

“I think the rest of us would like to leave the platform at some point,” finished a loud voice that sounded like George.”

Harry lay his cheek lightly against Draco’s, arms still wrapped around the other’s waist. “Don’t even think about taking off. This is your fault too.” He whispered.

“I hardly see that. I’m not the one who decided to do this so publicly.” Draco said, equally softly.

“Yeah, well. We’d never have done it at all if it were left up to you. So. If you want to duck out you’ll have to splinch me.”

Draco’s right hand was playing with the hair on Harry’s neck, “Might be worth it. Value goes down with any permanent damage sustained, of course, but… The damage to might be comparable to how much I value the opportunity to avoid Mr. Weasley’s overwhelmingly positivity and Fleur’s awkward questions.”

Harry chuckled, “Why Fleur’s questions?”

“Because,” he whispered against Harry’s cheek, leaning in just far enough that his lips grazed Harry’s ear as he spoke, “ _tu es mon petit ami._ ”

Harry shoved him away, rubbing fiercely at his own ear and turning red. “Ew, don’t do that.” 

Harry was then unfortunately reminded that they had an audience, because said audience erupted into laughter. 

Eventually, they all headed to the Burrow. Harry kept hold of Draco’s hand, making good on his promise that any disappearing act would have to be executed over his splinched body. As he walked away from Kings Cross Station for the last time, Harry overheard Fleur say slyly, “ _Bon ami, Draco? Très très bon! N’est-ce pas?_ ” 

_____ _

&nbsp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I wrote a Drarry novella IN THE YEAR 2016 [facepalms myself into oblivion] I also can’t believe I’m going to do it again! Could you imagine if my 14 year old self could meet me? Uuugghhhh neither of us would ever hear the end of it.
> 
> And no, you’re eyes are not deceiving you, you read that right. I know some of you may be deeply offended at the comparatively small amount of kissy kissy smoochy smoochy in this story (ahem a-certain-cousin-of-mine- ahem), but have no fear! I shall be writing a sequel eventually! 
> 
> ANYHOW, ya’ll have been fantastic.  
> It’s been real.  
> Maybe I’ll see some of you around in a month or so.  
> Either way, thanks for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself.  
> Hang loose.
> 
>  
> 
> Ok so it's been more than a month and I'm sorry about that. I am here, however, to tell you that I shall be returning with a sequel shortly. In the meantime, I have edited the html.


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